Power Struggle
by Mach56
Summary: Grudgingly, the Barbarian King bent his knee, and pledged his life to the Frost Archer. His past, his present, his sword all rejected her... Yet he found himself as her equal. Rating may shift to M at the very end if people want the citrus. Poll is up.
1. Summit

...

Summit

* * *

_He was on fire. He was sure of it. The old men of the tribe would always speak of the great bonfires that existed in the South, where the grass grew higher than ten men and as thick as a ursine. They spoke of the great fire that fought the Watchers, the magicians in the deep south that could turn kindling into fire with as snap of their fingers. Tyndamere never believed fire could be so fierce, fiercer than the snow and sleet of the Freljord. The night before, he was a barbarian, a man of the tundra. He was a leader, cold and hard, commanding his people. Heat was found in quilts and furs, not by this distant phenomenon. Fire had not been a part of his life._

_Until now._

_His sword lay buried in the snow, shattered by the red monster's blade. His tribe was already cold, their blood frozen and hard. But his heart was on fire, kindled by the demon's blade when it cut through it. The fire..._

_His feet failed him as he knelt to the ground. His arms failed him, refusing to lunge out for the demon's leg in a last act of defiance. All he could do was wait._

_"I see it in you..." The monster intoned, regal and curious._

_Tryndamere said nothing, although he desperately wanted to scream curses until he died of asphyxiation. It appeared his mouth had failed him as well. All he could do was grovel... and **seethe**. He felt the cold swirl around him, but the ice melted on his skin. It was madness. His heart shuddered his entire frame with each beat, threatening to burst out of his chest... The fire consumed him._

* * *

"So this is the Princess's town?"

"This is Rakelstake, leader." Novich replied, motioning to the clustered hub clinging to the side of the mountain. Radiating from the walls were acres of farmland. "The Throne of Freljord."

"See to it that our host is as civil as possible. I want our warriors giving gifts, cutting wood, sharing ale. If I hear one word of a fight..."

"Yes, no fights."

"_None._" The Barbarian King growled, glaring at his aide-de-camp for a moment, "We must be wary of these 'Summoners' and their reporters. Noxus will be watching, as well as the rest of the world."

"I hear you sir. We will behave." Novich responded respectfully, "Try to hide your apprehension and irritation. I know how much you want to get back to the border."

"I need _approval_." Tryndamere muttered, exasperated. "Things were so much easier before she complicated things."

Although he had never seen her before, Tryndamere had heard much from Ashe, the Frost Archer. For months she had supplied his band of warriors, giving them supplies to brave the winter. Tryndamere nearly refused them, but they were blades and arrows, not food and water. The girl knew the difference between a fighting man and a Barbarian, he gave her that, and she had promised him an end to the Noxian incursions. Little did he know that this would require him to learn how to read and write, and learn the politics of the world. He cared little about the foreign lands of Piltover and Ionia, or the strange group called the Institute of War, but Ashe insisted through her envoys and letters that it was the only way.

_Why believe her?_ Tryndamere grumbled internally as the host entered through the gates of Rakelstake, ignoring the trumpets and festivities that exploded around him. _I have no respect for farmers, or their war of words._

But did he have a choice? Not when she reminded him of his roots, as a Jarəsit Barbarian of the Fyrone Flats, ancient protectorates of the Throne of Freljord. His elders taught him well, he had remembered his roots. He would honor his heritage and serve her. He took her gifts, learned languages, practiced literacy and spelling, diligently as any lord would serve his queen.

He waved absentmindedly to the crowd, nodding with a neutral expression, although he was grim with claustrophobia. He spied a Summoner, a purple cloaked enigma that hung back, holding a pulsing crystal with his hands, taping the show. Internally, he wanted to wheel around and bolt out back towards the wild, away from the world of interviews and politics, but that was not what his forefathers did. _But_ w_as that how they felt?_

So he rode on, until he reigned his horse at the steps of the Crystal Hall. The procession stopped behind him, and the crowd no longer penned him in.

There she stood, alongside her royal escort of knights and swordsmen. Her hair was white as a flurry of snow, eyes bluer than Tryndamere could comprehend. She was only one foot lower than he did, but her arms were smooth and her face young. For a moment, Tryndamere couldn't believe that the girl standing before him wrote the letters that commanded him with such conviction.

"Welcome, Tryndamere, King of the Barbarians." Ashe proclaimed, "Lissandra and I are delighted that you decided to attend our summit."

Tryndamere nodded, swallowing his disappointment as best he could. "I am honored to serve the Queen as my ancestors have, centuries past."

"And you shall serve her well." Ashe responded coolly, "Your men are welcome to stay in Rakelstake and its barracks..."

"I appreciate it." Tryndamere replied hotly, brushing aside her cordiality like a gnat. "But my men would not want to impose themselves on your... subjects..."

Ashe's face gave nothing away, her blue eyes never drifting from him. "Very kind of you, sir. The grounds outside and inside of the walls are yours as long as peace is kept. After all, we are the same people, of the same land. While your company rests, would you accompany me and Lissandra for dinner?"

"I would be... honored."

As Ashe lead him into the Crystal Hall, he looked from left to right at the clear blue surfaces, down to the stone tiles of earth, and upwards to the white ceiling. He looked at everything and everyone, each palace guard and every stone sculpture...

But not at the girl. The moment he looked her in those strange eyes, his blood began to pump through his head quicker and quicker, screaming bloody murder and filling his mind with anger. Every moment in her presence only fed the fire that blazed within the confines of his skin, as if she was some allergen. He couldn't help it. Those eyes, that young face, those delicately trimmed fingernails...

He hated her.

* * *

End Chapter

* * *

Thank you very much for reading. Feel free to leave a review!


	2. Heavy Crown

Heavy Crown

* * *

_...His body shuddered, and he reached to his side, searching of something... Anything, that could be used as a weapon._

_His fingers wrapped around a hilt of cloth that he was surprised to find. Mysteriously, he felt his body rise... buoyed by the heat in his heart, which filled his entire chest. It was an inhuman urge, he knew, something that was planted when that blade impaled him, when his body failed him only moments before._

_The dark figure's complexion changed into something that looked like pride._

_"Come, then."_

_Tryndamere roared into the howling blizzard, his body alive and hurting, with a mind of its own. He jerked the hilt, swinging whatever the object was towards the demon's head as he rose towards the enemy. The object felt as light as a feather..._

_A loud metallic echo rang out as an enormous claymore slammed aside the lively blade of his opponent, crushing one of the creature's shoulders. His foe's blade screeched as it whipped towards the Barbarian's flank in a quick counter._

_The bloody opponent retreated a couple of steps, his demeanor unaffected. Only the sizzling hiss of his sword gave away his muted surprise of Tyrndamere's initiative._

_Tryndamere stumbled forward, mind lost in the fury, unaware that his stomach was sliced open. Steam billowed out from his guts as the skin grew over the open wound with fearsome speed._

_"My, my...Biting the hand the fed you..." __Aatrox muttered curiously, ignoring how Tryndamere screamed and lunged forward._

_Aatrox parried the blow cleanly this time, directing the enormous sword straight into the permafrost._

_"Look after that blade, sir." Aatrox continued, "And it will look after you. Let the fury sustain you, heal you, and feed it well. My gifts to you..."_

_The Darkin spread his banners, and disappeared into the dark, tumultuous Freljordian sky._

* * *

Tryndamere woke up on the cold, hard earth, the noise of the city rousing him from slumber. He got to his feet.

The city of Rakelstake spread out before him, shaking off the morning cold, lighting up under the sun's advance. Not that it mattered, since Tryndamere never could be cold... Not since that blizzard in the dark, empty tundra. The inferno within him dispelled it from his body, a fever that never subsided.

Felt his hands rest on the Royal Balcony. Behind him was the Royal Suite, not that he asked for such luxury. It was forced upon him, only a number of months before...

...He could still remember how his hands gripped the tiny silver forks and knives of royalty, on a grand table that only seated three people when it was meant for a dozen. No sooner had he entered the Crystal Hall was he sent to a basin to clean up and sit for a meal.

Lissandra was waiting, and at once Tryndamere's flames nearly leapt out of his nostrils when he took her hand and bowed. He could feel the ice on her hand... and felt how his fire burned her. She was cold... Too cold for a human. Tryndamere was not charmed.

Still, he mimicked Lissandra in how she handled the tiny scalpels. He knew better than to appear like a barbarian, the letters Ashe sent him made that much clear. He was meant to look like a vassal, and he would not be shamed in this fancy hall for anyone's amusement.

Luckily, the meal was short, as Tryndamere liked it. He did not care much for feasts and flights of fancy, and a simple entree of elk satisfied him well enough.

Ashe broke the ice, addressing Tryndamere. "Was the meal tough enough?"

Tryndamere hid the frown as best he could. The assumption that he was used to eating hearty meals irritated him.

"Adult... very young...Very good catch. My compliments to the hunter."

Ashe smiled, with a touch of pride. "The hunter made the kill in the late morning. Truly, it was a nightmare to skin and cut, but in the end it was worth it."

"Yes..." Lissandra added with a sliver of impatience, "A fine meal. Now, to business."

Ashe's blue irises narrowed slightly, Tryndamere could see, but her smile never faltered. Who was it directed to? The business, or Lissandra?

"Of course. It is a tedious time, especially with Sejuani's threats and absence from our table."

"What business are we discussing?" Tryndamere started, putting his hands on the chilled table.

"Statehood." Ashe replied neutrally, "So long as the Freljord is without a ruler, our petition for statehood will fail. We need a ruler. A King."

"So find one."

"We already have a suitable candidate." Lissandra responded.

Tryndamere groaned then, realizing Lissandra was alluding to him. He put his head in his hands and his elbow on the table, trying to order his thoughts.

"Please, no."

"You're perfect for the role." Ashe insisted, "Its hardly a difference from your usual title."

"Think of the privilege, having your name forever be remembered as royalty." Lissandra added, in a voice that dripped with promise. Tryndamere was surprised to find he hated her even more.

"I am a fighter. A warrior. I am meant to fight in the fields. I am not born to wear fancy cloths or don a crown." Tryndamere growled, angered by the unfair odds. Two against one?

"A king can still lead." Ashe shot back.

"A king must _rule_." Tryndamere spat, irritated. "You trust me to handle everything from courts to crops?"

"A queen can see to that." Lissandra mentioned quietly.

Tryndamere exhaled slowly through his nostrils. He was to be wed as well? _Please, Sejuani._ The boar-riding fighter was a woman Tryndamere respected, not these frilly princesses.

But he knew it was not to be. She was a warrior, like him. She could not handle statecraft no better than he. He knew who was to be his Queen. He did his best to resist, but his arguments fell short. He made an oath.

Soon after, he was walking back towards his camp, hot and sulking. He wanted to sleep, but the day wasn't over.

The Summoner pestered him with questions, from the Summit to the future of Freljord. He remembered how he dodged and dived through all of the questions, all the while wondering what sort of questions the Summoner would have asked if he had his throat constricted or an arm lopped off.

"I don't know why people are so curious." Tryndamere concluded desperately as he rushed towards the camp. "Freljord is a lovely place; the air has the kind of sting we barbarians can appreciate."

"Yes, bu-"

"Besides, would _you_ decline an invitation from the Frost Archer?" He finished sarcastically, but the Summoner didn't catch up on his humor. Idiot...

...Tryndamere spat off the balcony, right at the spires of his castle. _Her castle_.

He turned around, passing through the bedroom as he made his way to the stairwell. Following tradition, they shared the same room, Queen and King. But every night he slept on the balcony, breathing the brisk Freljordian air, while she clung to sheets to stay warm, like a babe who has never seen the permafrost of the north.

He hated her for that.

* * *

End Chapter


	3. Frostburn

Frostburn

* * *

_The cold was all around him, falling from the sky, solidifying on the ground, moving to and fro, buffeting him with solid breezes. Day and night, the Tundra was shivering in the cold. Yet he was warm, hot, molten, furious..._

_It was one week since the creature ran him through the heart, but the rage was still in him. He was hungry for water, hungry for food, hungry for bloodshed._

_He jerked this way and that, searching the horizon for something. Anything._

_Eventually they found him; a group of tough tundra scavengers, and their heavy set leader with a thick jaw and a number of gaps in his teeth. He boasted his exploits on raiding camps at the nightfall, offering Tryndamere a spot on his gang. Incredulous, Tryndamere challenged him on the spot. It didn't make any sense to him. Was their any honor in fighting the hopeless and unprepared? It reminded him of his cold, frozen tribe, buried in the cruel blizzard of the north. The man laughed him off, unaware of his fury._

_After running down the last of the cowards, Tryndamere had a new shoes and some rations. He ate his food sloppily with his left arm while his right grew back in agonizing, painful shudders. Then he set off again, simmering in anger and hatred, scanning the horizon for vengeance, for something to fuel his anger... eventually finding something entirely different..._

* * *

As he walked down towards the archery range, Tryndamere recalled the first time the Frost Archer demonstrated her skill with the bow. How could he forget?

It was a brisk day, a week after their confirmation as a League-represented nation, two days after Sejuani denounced Ashe and took her people up north. Tryndamere was anxious to prevent conflict, and found Ashe practicing the bow on the grounds.

"I will not abdicate." She replied staunchly, as she strung her bow, "Neither will you."

"Madness." Tryndamere complained, "We are one people. Your words."

"Words that Sejuani spat on."

"I disagree. She quarrels with you, you alone."

"No, Tryndamere. It was her and the strong, the weak in shallow graves. She only believed in strength, not in her people. "

Ashe's fingers released suddenly, and the bow shuddered magnificently. In a split second later, a loud _thud_ resonated from the target, an clear arrow sticking halfway into the oaken target. Ashe lowered the bow and faced Tryndamere.

"You do not believe in that, I know you."

Tryndamere glowered at her. "Know what? Know me?"

"You lead your people, you protect them. Sejuani leads, but never pauses for anyone to catch her breath. Reckless. Immature. Self-Centered."

"Yes... bu-"

"Tryndamere, Sejuani wants to be Queen, she always will. She does not care for her people. I must not allow her to cause chaos in our kingdom."

"_Our_ kingdom..." Tryndamere agreed sullenly, "But her people..."

"Are not innocent." Ashe replied coolly, "I am fair. If they lay down their arms, swear fealty, and work for the greater good, everyone will benefit. But until then, we must defend our future."

Tryndamere sighed. _She's right, damn her..._

"I will obey... Remember, this was your decision. Your responsibility."

"I am well aware of that."

"Really?" Tryndamere chuckled bitterly, "At least Sejuani knows about slaughter. Look at you."

Ashe shrugged, unperturbed. "I am adept at the bow, less so with the sword. I play to my strengths, and I will not run from battle."

"You wear _gloves_." Tryndamere sneered, his voice suddenly full of spite. "You worried about getting your hands raw, my Queen? Does that bow hurt your delicate fingers? After claiming your throne you want to campaign on your own people? _Fine._ You have the right reasons, and you are not in the wrong. _But for Avarosa's sake, this is no dream._"

For the first time, Ashe looked taken aback. Her eyes slowly lowered down to look at the ground, silent.

"You're right. I must... be held accountable."

Tryndamere scowled. "You need to do more than _that_, Ashe. You must be _strong_. In the coming weeks, hundreds will die. Crops will burn, children will starve, and you will eat elk on our clean table. People will blame you, question your motives, lose faith and even turn on you. So smother your naive thoughts and let your heart grow cold, toughen your skin and show no weakness. Your dream will become reality, I swear on my blade, but its going to hurt all the way. It will hurt you _deep_."

The sun glared down at the two of them, merciless and cold. Ashe looked up, straight into Tryndamere's eyes.

"Hold, please?" She asked timidly, offering her bow.

Tryndamere snatched it out of her arms, rolling his eyes of how subdued she was, while she slowly removed her gloves.

For a moment, she stared sadly at her hands, but Tryndamere felt as though she wasn't thinking about them. Her mind was somewhere else, contemplating something deeper than just her nails.

"No turning back, then."

Tryndamere frowned pitilessly, "You can never turn back, girl. "

She put the gloves away and strung her bow again. Tryndamere flexed his hand, staring, perplexed, at the melting band of frost that evaporated from his hand.

_Thwang._

Ashe's arrow flew true once more, but Tryndamere could see the smoke on her fingers as enchanted bow burned her fingers cold. _Frostburn._ He realized. _True Ice..._

What torment, to use such a powerful weapon. He opened his mouth and almost offered condolences, in a moment of stupidity, but his mouth shut tightly. He knew better. She should have _never_ used gloves for a bow. Unbecoming. Weak.

_She must be stronger. The world is cruel, life is not fair. This girl needs to grow up, and this is just one of many lessons._

So he stood there, watching her practice warfare, learning about the true face of the world. He watched for an hour, and then left her to her own devices. There was a war to plan...

...Tryndamere walked down the archery range, spying the targets that were far off in the distance, ages farther from when he first saw the Frost Archer practice her bow. He looked up back towards the castle. The delegation would be over the hill soon, with nobility from all of the city states. There was to be a feast, and a dance, a celebration. But his mind wasn't bothered with the present, or the future. He was still thinking of the past...

...and how things came to be.

* * *

End Chapter


	4. Unknown

...

Unknown

* * *

_He spotted a dot in the horizon, and in the windless, empty day, reached the camp before nightfall._

_They were victims, he could see by the way the put up no resistance when he wordlessly ripped through their supplies. All he found were scraps... And something unsettling rose in his mind, something that subsided the flames, naught for a moment._

_He remembered something, behind the flickering heat of his soul. Language. He had almost forgotten._

_"M-en? Where are your... warriors." He enunciated, looking around the ragged camp, he spied no men, only elderly women and young babes._

_The leader, a elderly old women, replied that all of the men had been killed, and the little boys cut, the women, especially the little girls, carried off._

_Tryndamere frowned. Part of him didn't understand what that meant, even though at the same time, his sanity screamed from the corner of his head, louder and louder. Where is the honor in this?_

_The old lady asked him what his purpose was. What did he need? What did he want? She looked tired. They all did..._

_For a long time, he stared at the horizon, plagued the discussion. He couldn't quite grasp what was so wrong about it..._

_ The camp didn't seem to care. They didn't even move, as if they were frozen._

_Tryndamere frowned suddenly, surprised that his heart rate was dropping, beginning to grasp at something called consciousness. In the distance, he could see the Melt, where the Tundra permafrost would end and the forest began, where prey could be hunted. He had never been, but he knew that was where he needed to go._

_Follow, he commanded them. They followed as best they could._

_But he reached the forests alone._

_As he walked through the trees as thick as an Ursine and tall as twenty men, he screamed and howled at the darkness, at the wolves and strange creatures that glared at him from afar, at the world. He hated it..._

* * *

Tryndamere walked to the castle stables, and stared at the stalls, he still remembered how musky they where when the knights were mobilized. He was lost in thought, thinking back to the campaigns and how he lead his men into battle with Sejuani. More importantly, he remembered the day before the deciding battle.

It was a hectic morning, more than usual. While Sejuani romped through the valley and burned crops and terrorized populace, Ashe and Tryndamere consolidated their forces and protected as much as they could. Tryndamere personally led sorties to repel and interfere with Sejuani's raids, stalling for Ashe to rally enough men to meet the barbarian's on the field.

Personally, Tryndamere believed that a day-long melee would have been military suicide and would have innumerable casualties, but his efforts to disrupt and confuse Sejuani were not as effective as he had hoped they would be. It was soon discovered that her forces were amassed only a day's ride from the Crystal Hall, with battering rams and turtles. A siege would be inevitable.

Tryndamere would not stand for that. He would meet Sejuani on the field, and engage her force in battle. He had horses that could maneuver, archers to harass, knights to vanguard. As strong as Sejuani was in the field, she would be stronger at the gates of Rakelstake, where her host's moral would overwhelm the defenders.

Initial plans were made, and the troops were to be mobilized. It would be a daunting and bloody conflict, but Tryndamere was confident in their chances.

That is, until he looked for his mount.

He found her, sitting on a white, light-weight charger, decked in light, silvery white armor.

"Ashe." Tryndamere spoke, putting on a neutral face to the best of his ability. "Are you here to survey the battle? March with the troops?"

"I intend to lead."

Tryndamere rolled his eyes._ Put shiny armor on someone and they think they're invincible_. "No, no... You should have lead some of the raids, not this. You are welcome to join the march, and take part in the war tent on the field, but battle is not for you."

"Wrong, Tryndamere. For too long I have s-"

"**No.**" Tryndamere spat forcefully, angered by her stupidity, but still in control. "You do not know battle. This is stupidity."

Ashe looked at him with her cold, blue eyes.

"This is necessary. Sejuani calls me a coward and a little girl. She insults my claim to the throne and slanders me as an unfit ruler who does fight her own battles. She taunts me and my silence has wounded the dignity of my people. Today that changes."

"You're going to fall for it." Tryndamere moaned, shaking his head in disbelief and chuckling. "You're actually going to take her bait and stick your neck out?"

"I am defending my honor. My people's honor. Tell me true, has her words not affected the populace?"

Tryndamere crushed part of his tongue and swallowed down the blood bitterly, the rage sullen and smoldering, coming to a boil.

"So what." He shrugged, his mouth still red.

"Everything, Tryndamere. Our people must stand tall. I will lead the vanguard and show she is wrong."

"**Vanguard?!**" Tryndamere screamed. "You are an archer. "

"I am a **queen, **Jarəsit." Ashe fired back sharply, "And you have no power over me."

"I am... your husband." Tryndamere managed awkwardly, furiously.

"Which matters little. You swore an oath to obey me."

"Fine." Tryndamere sighed, raising his arms in defeat. "Go ahead. Make my work that much harder."

"And you will stay."

It took a moment to process. When it did, Tryndamere's fist went through the closest wooden pole of one of the stalls, breaking it clear in two. Tryndamere managed to catch himself and bring himself above the inferno that surged within his soul.

"Are. You. **Mad**?! _Get off that horse_."

"You must keep order in the city."

"**Ashe**."

"I order you, Jarəsit."

"**_No._** "

There was a pause filled with Tryndamere's furious energy. His vision was red. He wanted to hit her, hit her hard, right off that prancing little pony of hers, force her to the ground, and stomp her princess head into the cold earth until her brains oozed out, if she had any. He could do it... He didn't want to... He needed consciousness, he needed control...

"Tryndamere. Calm down."

Yet those eyes stared down at him, subduing him in a way he could not explain. The fire dimmed, the blood drained from his eyes. They were unnaturally blue... So...

"I must cut my teeth on the art of war someday. You know that. I cannot look like a frail little girl hiding behind a Barbarian."

"But not in the _vanguard_." Tryndamere complained, desperate, amazed that he could not summon the willpower to fight her, the flames subsiding even more.

"I understand your concern."

"You don't understand." Tryndamere shot back, "I must _serve_. I cannot..."

His couldn't finish his sentence. So he tried again.

"This is no game, Ashe. I thought you learned. If you die, everything dies with you. Sejuani knows that as well. She will send all she has to ride you down."

"I am aware of that. She will fail, and the battle will turn quickly once the line repels her reckless charge." Ashe calmly assured him, bringing the reigns up. Her hands were whiter than before, frozen, sharp... _changed _from her practice with Avarosa's bow.

Tryndamere could only stare as he watched Ashe disappear from view, uncertainty and doubt gnawing at his core. A sharp feeling... a feeling he could not explain, or understand, welled deep within his gut once more. It was not fire. If it wasn't fire, it was not natural...

* * *

End Chapter


	5. Initiation

Initiation

* * *

_They surrounded him, first running him through with swords and axes, then severing his arms and legs, and finally strapping him down and wrenching his weapon from his grasp. They kept him at the fire, gagged, and only fed him periodically, with bitter tastes that would cure "The Fever", as the elders said. His mind began to order itself, the inferno no longer licked at the roof of his head and instead settled in his belly. However, the medicine man soon died to The Cough and the clan lost some more men due to a hard march south. They were running. Carelessly. Desperately._

_Until one day, three men dragged the sword to his feet, and removed the gag._

_"Barth..." One of the younger men started._

_The older man ignored him, addressing Tryndamere._

_"Bandits, warrior. We are being overtaken. They are crossing the hill over yonder as we speak. Do you know what happens if we fall?"_

_Tryndamere winced, thinking hard. He knew something..._

_"They will kill all of the boys. __They will carry of the girls. _They will-"

_"Cut the babes, yes." Tryndamere finished, tired, remembering._

_"You can stop this." The man named Barth said slowly, kneeling to Tryndamere's level. "You can end them. Fight with us."_

_Tryndamere didn't respond, staring at the great claymore inches away from him. It called out to him, desperately. There was a long pause._

_"Father, it is useless. I say we run and leave him for a distraction."_

_"Novich, you do not understand. Bandits always go for the food and supplies. They will not waste time addressing this man."_

_"Split up, then." The other boy asked._

_"Pointless and delays the inevitable."_

_Silence. Everyone in camp was silent. A baby gave a hiccup, and a wife with puffy red eyes hugged him tightly._

_"Unfair... is it?"__Tryndamere asked._

_Barh looked at him, his grief and frustration visible on his face.  
_

_"Quite."_

_"How many?"_

_"We'll be lucky if we kill four. My two sons are young, strong, and well trained, but they are mortal."_

_Tryndamere found himself shaking his head. When he looked at these people he saw his frozen clan, he saw the old withered woman right before the melt. Finally he realized what had pained him for so long. They did not deserve this. His clan, the old lady, these ragged scavengers. They were prey, just like he was on the day the black creature put his blade into his heart. The flames grew, the rage growing inside him. How unfair this was. How cruel. How wrong. The blade... **His** blade, glowed with delight. Yes. He would do something. This time. He knew what he would do. After all this time..._

_"_**_Give..._**_ it..._**_ To_**_ Me...**I will... Even the odds.**"_

* * *

Tryndamere walked outside of the stables, staring at Avarosa's Perch, a smooth, flat plateau that he first rode down to Rakelstake. It was there he first laid eyes on Ashe's city, and it was there where Ashe returned...

...He remembered galloping up the slope, after performing his last check of the city defenses. He knew that the battle was in the Claw of the Ursine, down-river from Rakelstake, and whoever won would take two different routes. If Sejuani won the field, she would charge up the Stalagmite Palisades, up-river straight towards the Northern walls of the city to begin the siege. However, if Ashe emerged victorious, she would regroup her host on top of Avarosa's Perch and march down towards the main gates of Rakelstake.

Tryndamere was betting on the latter, hoping for it, desperate for it. Without Ashe, her promise of a safe land for all Freljordians would be ruined, and the world would prey on his people like an Owl hunting a stable mouse. It was _unfair_... His people deserved none of it...

His mind filled with fire with just the thought.

His concentration was interrupted by the swift gallop of hooves. A wily young youth shot out from the top of the ledge and rushed downwards towards the King. The boy shouted and reigned his horse down as best he could, eventually coming to a stop a number of meters downhill from the king.

"Mi'lord!" The boy exclaimed, his face flush and his mail bloody. "Sejuani has been routed!"

Tryndamere tried to grin, very much so, but the scrawny appearance and the unkept armor irked him.

"Casualties?"

The child's face dropped an octave, remembering the carnage. "Many, si-... My king. Queen Ashe has been wounded."

Tryndamere shook his head, slightly relieved. _Just a wound_. "Very well. Go spread the news to the people in Rakelstake, boy, and be quick about it."

The boy nodded, moving downwards the slope once more.

Ashe soon arrived, just as Tryndamere reached the top of the slope. How she was able to ride her horse, Tryndamere did not know.

Her side was bloody, her white armor dirty with blood, grime, water and snow. One of her cheeks proudly displayed a purple-black bruise, and her chest-plate was dented so much Tryndamere couldn't believe she could still ride, and ride so quickly.

Yet she did, down with him into the city without saying a word. The army followed behind her, thrashed yet simmering with triumph.

"She took down more than 30, I swear on it." Novich had began as he rode alongside Tryndamere, his own armor dented and ruined, while Ashe waved to the cheers of the crowd. "Her arrows were sharp and constant, like hail."

"Yet she was wounded."

"Aye, Sejuani made it clear at the beginning of the fight, constantly pushing towards Ashe as the Queen threw out volley after volley. Mid-way Sejuani finally ran down the elite and slew her horse, easy. For a moment I thought the battle was lost."

Tryndamere glanced at the grubby grey horse Ashe rode on, a stark contrast to the white charger she had ridden into battle.

"How did she survive?"

"She leapt clear. And put an arrow right through Sejuani's shoulder. I saw. Everyone did. An inch more and it would have been through her throat, or better, her eyes. The worst shot she had made in that fight, I'd wager.

"But the wound..."

"Sejuani's chain caught her side just barely, and some men tried to end her there. An axman got through her mail. We acted quickly, and she was able to repel the worst."

Tryndamere grinned cruelly, an idea sprouting in his mind. _It must hurt._

"Well done, Novich. You have done well."

He rode up to Ashe then, and followed her until they arrived at the steps of the Crystal Hall, ahead of the main army but followed by the Royal Guard. He dismounted, and saw how indifferent Ashe was as she slid down from her horse, walking with him towards the grand steps. They marched up them together, towards the grand keep, up until they reached the mighty doors of the Crystal Hall. Amidst the cheers and celebration, Tryndamere felt the eyes focus on the King and Queen.

Ashe paused, turning her head to look backwards. She teetered ever so slightly...

Tryndamere grabbed her shoulder.

"Forward." He heard himself command. Ashe complied.

She fell after the iron doors closed, but Tryndamere caught her, hefted her, and took her towards the medicine ward.

Blood ran from her mouth, as she whispered thanks. He just laughed at her. Foolish, dumb, insolent, naive. Apparently Sejuani was the reckless one?

The doctor was awkward, confused why Tryndamere intended to stay, eventually doing his job. He tore off Ashe's clothes and exposed her waist and Ashe reflexively moved to cover her chest, feeling defenseless without her useless chestplate. "_Not like she has much to hide." _The inferno crackled.

"Painful, was it?" Tryndamere started, smirking malevolently.

"Aye..." Ashe managed, shivering.

"Heh... Lies. Don't lie to me." Tryndamere growled, "In the middle of a fight, you don't feel anything. Everything feels afterwards. Thats why we close the wound now."

"Drink thi-"

"No." Tryndamere snapped, grabbing the doctor's slender hands. "She needs no wine, no poultice. This is the way of the north."

"But... My... My _lord..._"

"She doesn't need it. Its a scratch." Tryndamere responded cruelly, staring down at those blue eyes. He didn't have that unknown feeling this time. He was in control, taunting her, daring her to suffer more. She had _nothing on him. Noth-_

"He's right." Ashe responded, her voice trembling with the endorphins and the adrenaline, but ready for the challenge, taking the bait. "It has naught been thirty minutes. I can endure."

"My _queen..._"

"Save the poultice for someone else, _damn it._" Ashe argued forcefully, waving the doctor's arm away, which Tryndamere released in surprise. Still, he was in control. He was. He could gloat. He would win.

"Look at me, Ashe, _talk_ to me. Tell me how the battle went for you." He continued, moving over her head as the doctor started to begin.

Ashe winced, delirious and apprehensive. "I am weak...Rrr..." Her body flexed as the doctor's sponge began to clean the wound with one hand, the needle ready on the next.

"Weak... I was knocked off and two men came at me. I parried but they overpowered me and one slammed his axe... THERE." Ashe continued, fighting off the pain. "Thats how I got the-the..."

"Cut, yes..." Tryndamere saw as the needle dipped in and out, bloody bloody bloody. The sponge danced and hopped over the injury, red with royalty. The wound was more of a gash than a cut, but the stitching would seal the worst of it. It was surprisingly deep.

"I moved forward and slit the other's throat, don't know how. His-sword-was-slow-and-his-pommel-hit-me-on-the-face." Ashe rushed as the pain spiked through her. Her hand lashed out and grabbed his arm in agony, squeezing hard.

Tryndamere ignored the sharp cold that grasped him arm, he kept his eyes focused on Ashe.

"Go on."

"The... axe... He was killed and Sejuani was... going to return... but the phalanx regrouped, people rallied when I stood, and the battle shifted soon after that. I... I didn't fall. I walked forward alongside my men. Dodged arrows... and some men got close... Used my bow... I returned only when the field was truly mine... ours alone... **Gods**. I thought this was a... a _scratch_."

"Wonderful, Ashe. Truly wonderful. You are a warrior now. Feels nice?" Tryndamere laughed bitterly, noticing that Ashe ground her teeth together, her face contorted in agony.

"No." He intervened, "Dumb bitch, open. _Open._"

She complied with a scream as her body shuddered, while Tryndamere shoved a wet rag into her mouth. His fingers recoiled quickly, avoiding her teeth as they clamped down sharply.

"Yes..._Now_ bite down." He hissed. "No need to lose any teeth, hear? From here on out, **I** fight."

But then, Ashe shook her head defiantly, even as her body was racked by another wave of agony. Her face was filled with pain, but her will was still there. Tryndamere frowned, but said no more as he left the doctor to his practice.

He had lost.

* * *

End Chapter


	6. Spirits

Spirits

* * *

_Justice hurt._

_Or, at least, it hurt Novich. The boy was scarred, and now fatherless and brotherless. They fought like madmen, but they perished after the melee ended, when their rage ebbed away._

_Tryndamere didn't care. He had lost people before. He dragged his blade slowly over the corpses, walking south... Always south._

_"Where are you going?" The red-eyed boy asked._

_Tryndamere ignored him. The child was pathetic. He had fought with fervor just seconds ago. He had taken down at least ten, screaming curses, eyes aflame. He had Tryndamere's respect, and with one question he threw it all away..._

_"Wait."_

_The boy grabbed Tryndamere by his shoulder, and Tryndamere tried to shrug it off, unsuccessfully, before spinning to glare down at the axe-wielding whelp._

_"...Fuck off." He managed. Language was still hard to remember._

_"We need you. I can't lead the tribe alone."_

_"...The woman can lead...You can hunt."_

_"What if more bandits catch wind of us? And I can't feed twenty no matter how hard I hunt."_

_"...So?"_

_"So? You said you'd help."_

_"...I did."_

_"Bullshit, you just killed people. You leave us and we'll die."_

_Tryndamere squirmed uneasily, thinking back to the old lady of the Tundra, trying to turn his thoughts into words._

_"...You'll be fine." He responded, trying to ignore the truth. "...Just hunt... snow-mice."_

_"So we can die just a little bit slower?"_

_Tryndamere groaned, putting his hand to his head. Their was a pounding headache within him, as his consciousness slowly surged back, and he didn't understand why... But he had to stay._

_"Fine... I lead you south. We part ways there."_

* * *

The barracks were neat, orderly and clean. The walls were fleshly scrubbed and the armory was polished from head to toe. The grand sparring ground even swept up, no errant twigs or rocks standing out. Tryndamere nearly trampled all over it in defiance. How were they to look formidable nation if their training grounds looked as fresh as a mewing poro?

Still, surprisingly, the gash in the ground remained. It was deep in the cold rocky earth, and because of that its mark was hard to remove. Tryndamere walked up to it quietly, staring down at the split earth, thinking back to when he nearly killed Udyr.

For a month, the monk had accompanied Ashe and had sparred with her, to Tryndamere's ignorance. He had ignored her and the monk for the majority of the time, instead riding out to check on his men and visit the border. Only on the last week did Tryndamere decide to waste some time.

Udyr cordially welcomed Tryndamere as he approached the center of the grounds, dragging his Claymore as always.

"Greetings, King of the Freljord."

"Hello there, Spirit Walker. I've heard you've been training the Queen."

"Your wife, yes. She shows promise."

Tryndamere grinned angrily, showing his jagged teeth. "Yes, yes, the girl has quite the knack for _promises_. Tell me, Udyr, could she kill a man with her bare hands?"

Udyr spoke without hesitation: "Certainly, although I wish that fate will not be so harsh."

"You'd be surprised of how strict fate is, Monk. I wanted you to stay here for more than just a month. She needs protection."

Udyr gave a thin smile, "It is not necessary. Queen Ashe needs no protection, her spirit is strong. All she needs now is practice."

Tryndamere frowned, embers growing into flames. _A month was too short_. "Spirits mean nothing. I find your art... Hard to appreciate."

"On the contrary, spirits are everything. You yourself hold a spirit, something that guides your fists. Would you spar with me for demonstration?"

Udyr motioned for Tryndamere to discard his blade. Tryndamere eyed him suspiciously, then let his claymore clatter dully to the ground. He came close, balling up his fists.

"Come then."

The onslaught was quick and furious as Tryndamere swung towards the monk. Udyr was an orange blur, landing blow after blow while Tryndamere swung wildly him. Suddenly a roar of earth brown...

Tryndamere rolled over, pushing himself off the ground. There were no bruises, Udyr measured his blows well, making the fist-fight that much more humiliating.

"Swiftness of a Tiger and the strength of a Bear. These attributes I hold close, and I keep them on a firm leash. They allow me to break the strongest of guards. Now come..."

Tryndamere did not pause, launching at Udyr again. This time it was a green haze that repelled his fists, and a vision of red that pushed him back a number of feet.

"The resilience of a Turtle and the force of a Phoenix allow me to control the pace of a fight. These spirits also guide my-"

"Now with a blade." Tryndamere spat, irritated, grabbing the warm and familiar cloth handle, swinging his sword at Udyr's throat. The monk reacted precisely, ducking and striking the blade from beneath, knocking the blade off of trajectory. Tryndamere gritted his teeth and brought forth his fire, keeping the blade under control and pushing forward.

It was a flurry of colors that assaulted him. Orange, Brown, Red and Green all resisted and worked against him, yet he pushed forward. The blows hurt now, but Tryndamere was numb to such-

Udyr stepped forward and buried his fist in Tryndamere's abdomen, for a moment Tryndamere shuddered, stunned but the cracking of ribs, as Udyr stepped back, eyes in slits.

His sword _hissed._ Lashing out...

Udyr dodged the blade once more as it collided with the earth, rending it deep.

"Calm yourself, King!" The Monk shouted angrily, backing up a number of paces. "You intend to cause harm?"

"Says the man who broke my bones..." Tryndamere spat as his stood tall. Yet for some reason, he was still in control. His blade hummed furiously, vibrations shaking his entire frame. "Tell me, Monk of many creatures, this what you taught my wife in order to protect her from swords?" The last word felt bitter on his tongue.

For a moment, Udyr was quiet, deep in thought.

"Yes, and she has learned her form diligently."

"And what stance is hers? I cannot believe she has learned all of this in a month's time."

"It is not for me to tell. Spirits and their forms are by nature personal. As a Spirit Walker, I adopt many guises and thus it means little to me, but Ashe's spirit is her own. I would like to respect her privacy."

"And me? What is my stance?" Tryndamere mocked, although slightly curious.

A longer pause.

"I..." Udyr put his hands together thoughtfully. "It is... human."

Tryndamere raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "Human?"

"Exactly." Udyr responded quietly. "Strange, is it not? I would have expected a wolf, or a hyena."

Tryndamere had no clue what a hyena was. "A pity." He replied sarcastically, "I always thought myself as a wolf."

Udyr sighed, somehow subdued by his remark. "You misunderstand. A spirit is your affinity, it is not your nature. A human can be swift as a hare, stalwart as a bull, but... A human emulating humanity... Well, I am perplexed."

Tryndamere was silent.

Udyr kept his gaze, but changed the subject and rose his voice once more. "As I said, Ashe needs no bodyguard. She can look after herself. Though..."

He motioned to the gash into the frozen earth.

"I cannot say the same for you. Very reckless, Tryndamere. You must learn how to handle your passions, do not let it blind you to what really matters. Freljord needs you. Ashe needs you."

"Right."

"That was no joke, Tryndamere." Udyr responded, "Ashe chose you for a reason."

"She chose me because of my title and my ancestors. I expected the blade as well, but apparently she does not see me as a warrior."

Udyr shook his head ever so slightly, in silent disagreement.

"Be more kind to yourself, my lord. One day you may find that there is more to you than just your... fury."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Tryndamere shot back, waving the the monk away. "Until warmer winds, Udyr."

"Until brighter mornings, King of the Freljord."

They turned and parted ways.

* * *

End Chapter


	7. Leader

.

Leader

* * *

_Southwards they marched, and the farther they went, more and more stragglers latched onto Tryndamere, more luggage for him to pull down the way._

_During the daytime, he walked, he hunted, he led, and at night he sat alone, buffeted by the freezing cold wind, warm and alive, radiating heat. The fire had not left him for months now, and he was beginning to understand._

_Soon they broke out of the woods and into the hills. The road was found, a strange landmark Tryndamere had never seen before. They kept walking... and walking... and then..._

_Smoke on the horizon, running into more refugees._

_Fresh refugees._

_"The Avarosan party was pounced upon." One of the men cried, clutching a fresh wound to his side. "Completely routed. My horse died a while back."_

_"They'll be here soon." Another said desperately, glancing back at the ridge. "Gods, there were about a hundred. The poor Avarosans... They don't stand a chance."_

_"Noxians, I swear it." A woman spat, her voice bitter. "They'll pacify us all, for sure."_

_Tryndamere saw the people behind him tense up in fear. He looked to his side and saw Novich, young and trembling._

_"Lets go then."_

_The boy looked at him and shook his head._

_"Against warriors? Noxians?"_

_Tryndamere grinned, letting the fury pour out from his veins, flooding his body. He had heard about the Noxian campaign to pacify the Freljord...It was easier to grasp the fire now, control it, channel it._

_"We're Barbarians. We were born in a world of cruelty and we flourished."_

_Pranced to the top of a mound, staring at the smoking ridge, then back to the people gathered below. He hefted his blade over his head, feeling the righteous fury well up to his teeth. He screamed to the crowd._

_He lectured them, mocked them, called them cowards and bastards and whores. He reminded them of their heritage, of the Iceborn, those who freed the world and built the Crystal Hall with their bare hands. He could feel how his savagery began to infect them, as he pointed at their weakness, of how they have betrayed their legacy, their roots. They were shamed, and angry at their circumstances, angry at the world. Damn the circumstances, shit on shame, fuck the world, he told them. They will turn around and show those filthy, fire hugging Noxians what its like to be a true warrior of the tundra. The fire wormed its way through the cracks, and their eyes glowed like embers. The echoed his roars, and stood tall despite their wounds. There would be **retribution**._

_And soon after, Tryndamere led his force into battle. His first slaughter._

_It was a wonderful moment._

* * *

The Barbarian King was still in the barracks grounds, looking up from his mark in the ground towards towards the castle keep above. The Crystal Hall was embedded into the side of a mountain, a fearsome castle with its functions jumbled on the mountain slope. The barracks and the rest were on the slope downwards to the grand entrance and the Rakelstake itself.

He could see the contour of the mountain, as rough and shattered as it was, and how much it had changed. The ice on the eastern slope had melted and hardened more, making it reflect the morning sun with greater intensity, while the southern slope had become bare altogether. Despite its core of true ice, the mountain was always changing, always in flux, slowly, quietly. Unless you looked carefully each and every day, you would be completely taken aback...

League matches were brutal, tough, mean interactions. After the bloody events that occurred in Kalamanda (which Tryndamere was more than happy to avoid) the League matches became the prominent means of settling disputes. Wonderfully, Tryndamere and their allies were able to take some crucial victories over their opponents, from Noxus to Ionia. The water rights of the north were theirs, the incursions of Noxus were now illegal, and Demacia had to lessen their taxes on Freljordian goods.

It was during this time Tryndamere began to see Ashe, and see her often. He could now see how the mark of the Frostburn advanced un-naturally, slowly through the weeks. It was up to her shoulders now, Tryndamere could see, a faint change that slowly became more profound at her fingertips, sheer white after days of practice with the bow.

The fire within him screamed bloody murder, compelling him to resist her smiles. It frustrated him to how warm she was to him, how formal and composed she always appeared in his presence. She was tricking him, he was sure of it. There was something about her that threatened him, he was sure.

Everything changed after then, when Anivia, the Cryo-Phoenix, fluttered down from her frozen perches of Northern Freljord.

Tryndamere kept a close eye to how Anivia and Ashe conversed, as they strutted throughout the battlements, talking about things he could not hear. He was told that it was none of his concern, not his business...

_But the damn Cryo-Pheonix is not some fucking juror or debtor._ He thought furiously. He hung back, seething quietly to himself, the flames filling his mind with venom. _They are conspiring, no doubt._

It was a strange feeling then, a strange moment when Tryndamere realized exactly what he wanted to do. He remembered Udyr's warning. He tried to push back the fire, he truly did...

But it was not possible.

He cut them off as they approached the mountain path.

"Tryndamere? What a coincidence." Anivia responded calmly. Tryndamere noted Ashe was paler than usual, alarmed by his presence.

"Yes, great Cyro-Pheonix." He responded as cordially as possible. It still came out patronizing. "I was just wondering if I could join the discussion."

"A pity, we were just finishing up." The great avian replied cooly, "But I was looking for a moment to converse with you personally."

Ashe turned towards Anivia, her voice strained to Tryndamere's surprise. "Ah.. Y- Yes. I'll be off. Sorry for taking so much time, Tryndamere."

"Thats fine." Tryndamere responded quietly. "I don't have much to ask _you_, anyhow."

Ashe glanced towards Anivia, subtly confused and worried. Yet she still managed to force a smile to Tryndamere and hustle back towards the castle.

"Walk with me."

Tryndamere started after the large creature, irritated by her savvy. "What were you discussing with Ashe."

"Many things. The future, the past, and decisions large and small."

"I'd like a bit more than just that. Why was I not allowed?"

"She was... it was personal."

Tryndamere felt like laughing, but instead he just smirked as always.

"I don't care about her monthly cycle, that will not embarrass herself in front of me."

Anivia cocked her head coldly towards the Barbarian.

"Alas, it is not so simple, Tryndamere. Ashe has much on her shoulders, she has large roles she must fill. You will need to help her with that burden soon enough."

"She's doing her job as queen well."

"There is much more she needs to be."

Tryndamere scowled at that, not understanding.

"I do not understand."

"She must be eternal, she must be flawless. She must prove to the world Freljord has its best days ahead of it, not behind. That requires a different type of Queen. Not one who rules or commands, but inspires, epitomizes."

"She is quite adept at speeches and judgments."

Anivia sighed. "Alas, she must do better than that, and she is apprehensive about it. She does not want to show fear or weakness in front of you, Tryndamere. You have been such an inspiration, she would find it-"

That Tryndamere laughed out loud, confused. Why would Ashe think that?

"Me? Inspire? I kill, Anivia. I am a fighter."

"You lead troops, yes. But the purpose is no different. You remind the world, and your people, of Freljord's steadfastness in the face of adversary."

"I epitomize **anger**." Something deep, fiery and hot within Tryndamere replied, to his own surprise, "Tell me true, Anivia, did I appear in your conversations? Was I a point of discussion?"

Anivia, however, was indifferent to the hostile response. "No."

"Can I trust your word? For all I know you could have been plotting."

Anivia lowered herself so that her beak was inches from Tryndamere's face, eyes cold and serious.

"You know just as well as I do that those are thoughts planted in your mind, Tryndamere. Against your will. Against your reason. _Resist them_."

Tryndamere glared back towards Anivia's eyes. He suddenly felt so amazingly _stupid_ at this moment, but the clarity hurt as well. The inferno was never wrong.

"I... apologize. Its... not possible."

"I believe it is, and Ashe does as well. That is why you are so important. Be kind, Tryndamere. Understand Ashe. You two are much more similar than you think. Defend her, and she will return the favor. Only then will Freljord's future brighten."

Tryndamere shook his head, his voice melancholy and tired.

"I know. I have my duty. I will not run from it. But I will never be _kind_."

Anivia said nothing, yet Tryndamere could swear that those eyes of hers told him she didn't believe him. _Fucking smartass chicken._

They reached a slant in the mountain path. In one pulse of her wings, Anivia rose above the incline and settled on the top. Tryndamere clambered up the wall quickly, standing up to follow Anivia's gaze to the world below.

They reached a ledge on the mountain, an outlook. Tryndamere could look down to the Castle, to Rakelstake, to the hills, the Trees, and the Tundra. It was beautiful. He calmed a bit. He had never seen a sight so beautiful...

"Aatrox has been spotted across the Howling Abyss, on the High Plateau."

Tryndamere snapped to look straight into Anivia's eyes, which stared back at him, measuring him. His moment of serenity vanished brutally.

"No."

"He has returned to seek you out. I flew down here to warn you, so that you could have the liberty of picking your battles."

Tryndamere exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to rush down the mountainside.

"Do you know what he wants?"

"I'm afraid not. The choice is yours. A meeting is inevitable, but you can decide what the outcome will be..."

Anivia stretched out one of her massive wings, gesturing towards the beauty of his homeland.

"...Just like the fate of the Freljord, and how it lies on your hands. Remember that. Until warmer winds, King Tryndamere of the Jarəsit."

"Until brighter mornings, Cyro-Phoenix."

He watched her spread her wings and take flight, he watched her powerful form disappear over the mountains and the hills, disappearing in the horizon. Only then did he run.

* * *

End


	8. Dread

.

Dread

* * *

_His people were bleeding, weak, exhausted. Yet the fires in their eyes did not dim, and they marched with him as they moved forwards along with the Avarosan. The Noxians were repelled handily, but they were only a fragment of the full force. Tryndamere could hear the horns blare in the distance. More were coming. Many more._

_The party would not survive, Tryndamere realized sullenly. Even his rage would not save them._

_His blade hummed with the agreement. There was nothing more to do. Go south... Go south..._

_Yet he was thinking of the widow, the poor mother who lost her sons. He thought back to his own grandmother who perished, cold, on the edge of the world. He felt clarity, he found control, he had consciousness now. In the first time in ages, his eyes saw clearly and his thoughts were his own._

_"Go south." He snapped towards Novich. "Down the falls."_

_Novich obliged, a puppet on the string. The Avarosans were skeptical._

_"They will overtake us."_

_"Not if they are stalled." Tryndamere responded. "The gorge we passed will serve nicely. All of you, down the falls and you can easily escape through the caves. Noxians do not walk on ice."_

_"But our __honor...__" A child hissed, fire in his mind, clutching a bloody dagger, still entranced by Tryndamere's possession._

_Tryndamere spoke without pause. "Freljord will find honor in something purer. For that, its people need to live. I do the bloody work now. **Go**."_

_The men understood, yet at the same time were skeptical. What was one man against a brigade? Even with the enormous blade he dragged, he would be overrun instantly. Still, their chances were better going down the falls. They slowly trickled down the steep slope._

_Tryndamere walked north. He found a narrow gorge that they had passed through a mile back and grinned as he heard the clatter of hooves... Smiled when he saw the grey steel of the Noxian force arise from over the ridge and plummet towards him. He would survive. The refugees would be safe. __This was fair. The elders would have been proud of him, his ancestors would approve.  
_

_He would even the scale, he would lift his people up from the cold earth and give them **justice**..._

* * *

He rushed towards the stables, immediately searching for the fastest mount he could saddle. The brown, lithe horse he chose immediately, the swiftest in his memory. All he needed were reigns and his claymore...

And he was off, through the streets of Rakelstake, out into the country side, up into Avarosa's Perch...

Then downwards, eastwards, towards the Howling Abyss.

It was dark, but the sky was clear, and the moon lit up the landscape in a beautiful kind of way, and the rocks and trees glowed in dark light. Tryndamere knew these sorts of nights. There was a storm coming, a blizzard.

Fitting.

Hours and hours he road, his horse frothing and strained, until he reached the Advance. He left the horse, gave it a good smack towards the nearest trading post a mile down above the Institute of War's digging site, and made his way downwards to the Abyss.

The Advance was a massive stone jutting out, white and shivering, where the Iceborn stood before they charged downwards to engage the Watchers. They were hounded at every angel, but Avarosa lead them towards the Advance and suddenly their lines held, and the tide turned...

Tryndamere clambered deeper landing on the stones of his forefathers. The bridge was old, decayed, weak, not preserved by the Institute like the one further down. The wind whistled and howled, the air cold and solid.

But he was fire. He was not cooled. He pushed on.

The temperature was dropping and the wind picked up. The blizzard was already beginning, one of the deep freezes that froze a man solid. Tryndamere crossed the bridge, unperturbed. He began to scale the heights, clambering towards the Great Plateau.

The coldest in all of the land, of all of Runeterra. Some say beneath the ice and enormous glacier resided the birthplace of the Watchers, their great city before Avarosa lead the Iceborn in and sealed all the entrances for miles. As Tryndamere walked on the ice, he wondered if the Watchers continued their existence down in that sealed cavern of theirs...

After a number of cuts and bruises, he reached the top. As he rose, the wind began to speed up even more, the ice beginning to drift off the surface. Tryndamere followed the flakes of snow out into the Great Plateau. How impossibly cold it was, yet Tryndamere could still see the sky, the dark... cruel sky.

The empty, void landscape gave him time to think as he marched farther into the emptiness. He was foolish to come. It was stupid, it was rash. Ashe needed him. What if he failed? Would she be able to handle the burden alone? The doubts crept into his mind, fighting the fury that had led him here. His ancestors would be angry with him if they were watching... his elders... his people... Ashe...

"It will be about ninety below tonight." Aatrox started as he emerged from the darkness. "How has the blade treated you?"

Tryndamere spun around, and rushed upon him, bring his blade down towards Aatrox's head. A loud scream occurred when the two blades collided.

Aatrox appeared unaffected, and continued.

"You starve your blade, Tryndamere. Why?"

"Starve? How many people have I killed!" Tryndamere screamed out in fury, swinging out again, the dark sky suddenly shrouded in clouds.

"You seek to bring peace to the Freljord." Aatrox laughed, "Peace is against our nature."

"**YOUR NATURE**." Tryndamere roared, trying again.

"Tryndamere, please." Aatrox responded, knocking Tryndamere to the side with the flat end of his sword.

Tryndamere felt his skull crack, and for a moment his whole body felt numb. But the fire roared back and he rose, bones snapping back together in furious metabolism.

"Look how cold the night is, Tryndamere... And look at how snug you are. No human can survive this weather."

Tryndamere just swung out towards Aatrox again, forcing another exchange of blows. This time his arm was severed.

Aatrox chuckled magnificently as steam erupted from Tryndamere's stump, as the skeleton of a hand slowly took shape.

"Actions speak for themselves. Your body will never fail. As long as you have the slaughter, as long as you fuel your rage, you perpetuate."

Tryndamere assaulted Aatrox once more, blind to reason. His mind boiled harshly. Aatrox continued to prod at him, working his swordsmanship, assessing his strengths, as a father would spar with his son. As he cut at Tryndamere's ligaments, he lectured.

"End this nonsense. Let Freljord plummet into chaos, or better yet, stalk the world like I do. There is only so much you can enjoy from one natio-"

"**NO.**" Tryndamere choked, furious. "**I will not consent to this, you fucking coward.**"

Aatrox paused, taken by surprise, and his sword grew sharp and restless, trembling slightly in fury.

"Coward?"

"You heard me. Fucking do something **brave** in your sorry life for once, instead of cutting down innocents."

"I am one of the _last_ of my kind." Aatrox spat, insulted. "I need to save my race, _our _rac-"

Tryndamere found himself grinning in the blizzard, ice melting on his teeth. "Piss on **your** race. If they were so strong and so powerful, how are they all dead? Seems to me they were weak little **SHITS!"**

Aatrox came at Tryndamere this time, and after a battery of blows, impaled the barbarian cooly, holding him up ten feet up as the wind buffeted them both, howling and icy.

"I am surprised. You seem to be much more... Ferocious than I anticipated." Aatrox remarked, although his blade quaked in rage.

Tryndamere wheezed, not feeling the wound, twisting to free himself.

**"Fuck you, creature. I will protect my people, I WILL RIGHT THE WRONGS! NOTHING WILL CHANGE THAT!"**

"It seems you have much to learn, Tryndamere. It was never about evening the odds." Aatrox hissed, along with the blade. There was a strange glow then, as the blade began to sap hungrily at Tryndamere's core. Tryndamere began to feel it. He began to feel the snowflakes stick to his skin and his wound began to hurt... His fire began to extinguish.

Peter out.

He screamed in terrible agony. Aatrox roared over the noise.

"**_This _**will be your fate, imbecile, if you do not obey the flame's will.**_ Peace will sap your soul,_**_ **freeze you solid, bleed you out in agonizing drops. ****YOU WILL OBEY. THERE IS NO CHOICE LEFT FOR YOU. YOU CHOSE THE SWORD, YOU CHOSE VENGEANCE, YOU CHOSE SLAUGHTER. LIVE BY IT!"**_

Tryndamere could not understand, he felt frozen, the blood hammered through his body but it was ice instead of fluid, his mind hurt, his body screamed, his heart cried out. His soul... His soul was gone...

Aatrox roared in fury suddenly, lowering the blade. Tryndamere shuddered free, falling to the ground, ice encasing his body, blood turning to ice.

"Stand, **damn** you." Aatrox yelled, before his blade shuddered and cried out, cringing, injured. Aatrox gave a mortal scream, blood flying out from his body, hot and fiery. The banners expanded, and he disappeared.

Tryndamere felt this, heard this, saw this, and was so cold. It was a nightmare, it was the end.

He was sure of it. His body failed him, his legs were stiff, his lips were brittle, and his breath had long stopped.

His body failed him...

Yet something deep within him denied the injustice, the cold, the end, as it always did. It was not to be. He would not allow it. He reached out, desperate, weak... One last action...

And grasped onto something familiar.

The cloth hilt of his blade was hot, steaming and alight. The heat scorched through him, the rage, the fury, the inferno. His blood ran liquid again, his wound sealed with a burst of fire and steam. His eyes stopped freezing. His mind filled with the inferno once more. The sword. The sword was always there when he needed it.

His body erupted in red as he stood, tall, alive, and angry. The blizzard was around him, a flurry of the elements, blinding and unforgiving, but with his eyes focused, he could still see the Abyss.

He walked back, soul and all. It was a long journey, but he soon found himself on the bridge, then clambering up the slope. The clouds grew lighter, the snow fell calmer as he walked towards the trading post...

* * *

"Tryndamere!"

"Ashe?" The barbarian spoke, surprised that he remembered her name, confused by her presence.

"Yes, I had heard that you had rode off towards the Howling Abyss in a hurry at night. I'm sorry... for being so engrossed with Anivia yesterday, but when the blizzard picked up I was worried. I came as soon as the wind died down."

Tryndamere frowned, disturbed. Time surely did not flow so quickly... Time... He had lost sense of it after he spoke to Anivia. Something felt wrong, the inferno did not make errors.

"We can ride back together."

Tryndamere found himself nodding, as the horses were brought out of the hovel that protected them from the storm. He found himself riding...

He kept on thinking back to Aatrox and how he shuddered in agony. Wounded. He saw everything, heard everything, felt everything. But it was not possible...

_Look how cold the night is, Tryndamere... And look at how snug you are. No human can survive this weather._

Ashe caught his stare.

"Something wrong?"

"No..." Tryndamere responded, looking down the road, avoiding those eyes.

"I don't mean to intrude, but what happened? Where did you go?"

Tryndamere's mind just spat out something, before he could think.

"I... wanted to feel cold. I haven't felt cold in so long..."

"Mm... The blizzard probably did it."

"...Yes. It did."

Tryndamere knew what he had felt, all those times before. Whenever he saw her Frostburn, every time he looked into those strange blue eyes of her. There was no other feeling it could be other than dread.

* * *

End Chapter


	9. Mobilization

.

Mobilization

* * *

She sat on her throne with pride, her body growing into the role of royalty. She grew taller and her voice softened, in a way that drew in people's attention. Her body was stronger, Tryndamere could tell by the contours of her figure, all her jogs up the mountain and her practice in the battlements hardening her frame, reinforcing bone and building muscle. The FrostBurn's advance was visible on her neck now, though to Tryndamere's paranoia nobody seemed to notice. Was it all just hysteria, a figment of Tryndamere's imagination? He wished it to be so, fighting away the pit of dread that settled in his belly.

Counsels and messengers twitter to and fro in the Crystal Hall, which seemed to glimmer with life now that it finally had a King and Queen once more. Freljord itself began to flourish, its southern lands pulling a surplus of crops and the northern reaches providing timber and furs.

Yet despite the growth, the problems remained: Sejuani still roamed the upper reaches, pillaging where she pleased, while Lissandra became dormant and reclusive in the east, sheltered in Frostgaurd city. It irked him almost as much as Sejuani. He had not forgotten the Frostguard's icy grip.

The newest envoy finished up his story.

"...and the road became too dangerous for us to continue. I fear that Daggercave's situation is getting more precarious as storm season approaches."

_Daggercave_. Tryndamere's eyes narrowed, remembering the land. The Northernmost keep in all of Freljord, no doubt the apple in Sejuani's eye.

"So, you believe that an expedition is necessary?" Ashe responded thoughtfully.

"Aye, and with enough supplies to fill Daggercave's stores for the winter ahead."

Tryndamere decided to cut in, the boredom was killing him.

"How many men does Sejuani have in the region? I can easily picture this as just an attempt for Sejuani to lure out supplies."

The grey-headed envoy paused, doubting himself momentarily.

"I cannot say, my king. I fear your worries are well founded, as well. But the risk of losing Daggercave..."

"Unacceptable, yes." Ashe responded calmly, her blue eyes focused far away, hand on her chin, deep in thought.

Tryndamere shrugged. "The course of action is clear then. Daggercave can hold one more winter, and when Sejuani retreats, we will send aid."

The envoy was nervous. "The winter season is long, my lord."

Tryndamere waved his hand, irritated by the formality of the man's speech. "I am well aware of that fact. However, I stand by my judgment. The risk of losing these supplies to Sejuani is too high."

"I'm afraid its not high enough, husband." Ashe replied slyly, "True, time is short since the winter season is coming, and the weather grows harsher every day, but Daggercave must be reinforced. We'll just have to provide proper escort."

"How big will the escort be? We have no measure of Sejuani's force."

"The winds are picking up. Sejuani would be foolish to bring her entire force down and far away from her warm shelters far up north. Rash as she may be, she will not try and pick a fight with the blizzards of the Freljord. It is safe to assume that the force is small."

Her eyes glimmered, calmly assessing him, eager for him to continue. For a moment, Tryndamere thought of arguing further. But he had learned not to. It was pointless. The girl's mind was made up, the argument was already concluded. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a discussion, even though it irked him why she was so... _interested_ in his opinion. What did she take him for?

So after the decision had been announced, he rode to the camp and spoke to Novich about a party to escort a convey north. He had a word with the captain of the city guard, discussing which stores would be opened and when the host would leave the city, and which horses and mules would be chosen for the journey. He did his duty, without causing a ruckus or stirring the pot.

Riding back to the castle, he weighed his options. He could lead the expedition, or he could ride amongst the frontier again. Yet the moment beyond the Howling Abyss dissuaded him... Aatrox was out there. A mortal threat. He could not take a risk like that again, no matter how much the heat beneath his skin urged him to rush off. Some other day.

As much as it infuriated him, he was stuck with her. So when he ran into her again as he handed off the horse to the stable-boy, he did his best to maintain his temper. If he was to be civil for a long time, he had to start somewhere.

"Ashe? Why aren't you on your Crystal Throne?"

"The halls are closed to the public now, Tryndamere. The day is growing long. I wanted to talk to you about the excursion to Daggercave."

"The expedition is set. There will be 60 wagons and 300 men. The elders predicted calm weather, but the overall journey could last up to a week considering how bad the weather _is_."

Ashe did not interrupt, but Tryndamere could tell she didn't care for the details.

"...What about the expedition?"

"I think we should lead it. Its been a long time since I've seen Daggercave."

"You do remember that Sejuani is hiding out in those hills." Tryndamere snorted, "She could very well thrash the entire party."

"Not with us leading it, I'm sure. Sejuani's entire host couldn't possibly be in our way."

Tryndamere was unconvinced. Nothing in the world was certain. Though the odds that Sejuani would trample around the keep of Rakelstake a two weeks before storm season were slim.

"What about the subjects?"

"I have handled that." Ashe replied. "The state of Freljord is strong, a simple excursion for a week before the storm season will not be calamitous."

Tryndamere searched for something, _anything_ that could possibly dissuade Ashe. Yet he could not find a speck of an argument. There was only one other option...

"It better not." He sighed, defeated. "Go then. I'll stay and order the city."

Ashe cocked her head, confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I always wanted to... ah... collect taxes."

Ashe grinned, shaking her head.

"You'd be a tyrant, then. We've counted taxes last week."

Tryndamere frowned, partly embarrassed, flustered by her show of teeth. _Stop with the niceties, already. Why was she so damn casual with him?__  
_

"Right... I just want to stay, I've had enough traveling for the moment."

Ashe's grin dissolved ever so slowly, her eyes suddenly... disheartened?

"Are you so sure? Great King Tryndamere, tired of travel?"

Of course he wasn't. He wanted out of this city, out of this bloody farmland and into the wild. The castle had irritated him for too long, and the trips were too short. Daggercave was a stone's throw away from Tyrone flats, and he missed the Tundra. But he didn't want to go with _her..._ But she needed to be safe...and she looked so _sad... _

"...It wouldn't hurt." He admitted, trying to look away from her pleading eyes, giving up the fight. "I've never been to Daggercave before."

Ashe's good humor resurfaced, eyes brightening._  
_

"I knew you were sick of the castle."

Tryndamere didn't know what to say. He didn't know how, but she always had it her way. Those damn eyes of hers, he just couldn't understand it. It was _witchcraft_, damn it.

* * *

Sejuani wrinkled her nose, refusing to satisfy the urge to itch. The snow fell from the sky daintily, but she knew that the pretty little snowflakes were much more lethal when in motion. _Just like Ashe_. She thought bitterly, rolling her shoulder, recalling its grievous injury. _Those fragile little arrows of hers wouldn't scratch if it weren't for their speed. _

Worse, storm season was fast approaching, and she was still eager for action. Yet here she stood, consolidating her forces. Of course she was mad, angry, and hostile.

"So you promise to lend your blade and not run from battle?" She spoke casually to her newest recruit, appearing impartial but with a voice of razor focus.

"I have the best intentions." The so-called volunteer replied, bowing his head. "Freljord needs its true ruler, not some coward of an archer."

Bristle snorted, and Sejuani slightly pulled back on her reigns to remind the boar to stay in line. She understood his distrust, and could see the lie from a hundred paces, but they could not act on it now.

"Very convincing." Sejuani spat harshly. "I do not care for speeches, dear sir, I care about actions. Ashe will fight furiously, her ignorance runs deep. You are prepared for a long war?"

"Of course."

Bristle did not react. Neither did she.

"You will see it out to the end?"

"Naturally."

Honesty in every syllable. Sejuani's eyes narrowed, and grew impatient. "So what would you like in return? You want to fulfill your side of the bargain, but what do you want from me?"

Aatrox looked up, straight into Sejuani's eyes.

"You know the answer..."

* * *

Lissandra felt her fingers click on the jagged ice that was her throne. Before her kneeled a rather self-absorbed character. His hands gripped the club of True Ice as if it were a blade, resting his upper body on it like a knight dipping before royalty, face staring at the floor. Class act.

"You called, my queen?" Trundle intoned deeply, voice dripping with knightly gallantry.

"Yes, yes... Trundle." Lissandra responded, "I need you and your trolls to do me a favor."

"Of course, my lady. Whatever you desire."

Lissandra felt her mouth twitch into a frown, but her patience reigned her anger quickly enough.

"Ashe shall be traveling to Daggercave. I want you to end her."

"Uh, what?" Trundle responded, looking up at the Ice Witch, his act broken in confusion. "I thought that we were her alli-"

"We never were." Lissandra spat reactively, suddenly catching herself. "I mean, she thinks that we are, but we were never truly her allies. The people have begun rally around her too much, and she has led Freljord into a period of revival. Before she becomes too strong for the Frostguard, she must be dealt with. Crushed."

"Crushed. Gotcha." Trundle agreed, patting his club. "Okay, so I just go and bash her?"

"That's the spirit. Take a small force, so that it seems just a pack of angry trolls picked her off. She'll be leaving in the morrow, so you best leave as soon as possible."

"Okay." The troll remarked, standing up, "How many?"

"There are going to be at least 200 men, and Tryndamere may be involved."

"Huh. Thats a tall order."

Lissandra smiled. "You will find away, won't you? You always do, my knight."

Trundle bowed one last time.

"Of course, my queen."

Lissandra smirked as the troll lumbered out of the chamber. _What a shortsighted idiot._

Little did she know, that was exactly what the troll was thinking.

* * *

End Chapter


	10. Rugged Trail

.

Rugged Trail

* * *

The convoy was slow, rickety and cantankerous. Wagons creaked and the horses and mules snorted. Tryndamere spat on the ground. The snow effortlessly drifted down from the cloudy, yet serene morning sky.

The trip had started off slow and had picked up pace up until the rocks and debris started to clutter the road, breaking an axel or two. The weather was also unpredictable. Some days the wind was strong and pushed a unsuspecting man off his horse in a sharp breeze, other days the air was still and speckled with snowflakes.

There was a routine to follow, but Tryndamere didn't mind scouting and clambering up peaks as long as the brisk Frejordian air was swirling around him. Every incline was different, every hill passed had its own set of hurdles. He was free from the dull repetition of the castle, alive and walking in the world. Every moment he reached the apex of a mountain and stared down the horizon, he felt as though he hadn't made that promise, that pledge to the Frost Archer.

Today he was done with scaling peaks, and tomorrow there was only one more left to do. As they passed through the valley, he would scale the Shattered Helm and make sure nothing was hiding in the shadows of those peaks. Then they would be at Daggercave. He must have been tired or had imbibed some rotten water, since he had the idiocy to strike up a conversation with her. She was not leading the convoy, to his surprise, but riding above it on the slope.

"Good evening, Tryndamere. Have you enjoyed the journey?"

"Yes." Tryndamere responded cautiously. "How far out are we?"

"About two day's ride. I haven't seen much of you, busy climbing the peaks?"

"Some one has to do it." Tryndamere shrugged, "What have you been up to all this time?"

"Practicing my bow."

"Really."

"Mmhm. I take aim at the features of the landscape, and as we pass them people can appraise how well I've aimed."

Tryndamere raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Somehow it felt like vandalism to him.

"How far have you been shooting?"

"A 100 meters, I'd reckon."

Tryndamere found himself smirking.

"Hundred meters? Tall story."

Ashe smirked back, once again taking Tryndamere head on.

"Ask around."

"The effective range of this bow cannot be that far." Tryndamere continued, motioning to the icy bow that Ashe had on her back.

"This is no ordinary bow, Tryndamere."

"As I said, tall tales for children." Tryndamere replied sharply. "Don't let appearances fool you, Ashe. A bow may be able to reach a target, but that does not mean it will-"

"I'm the archer here, Tryndamere."

Flames rose up within the Barbarian. He was surprised that they had not rose up earlier.

"How about this." Ashe replied quietly, before Tryndamere could start spitting flames. She brought out her bow and strung it quietly, nodding up towards the peak looming ahead.

"How about I put this arrow through the peak of The Ursine? You can bring down the arrow to me when you climb it tomorrow."

Tryndamere looked at the peak. It was kilometers up, farther than the Shattered Helm by far. The convoy rattled by, unaware of the Royalty conversing in the shadowed ledge.

He looked back at her.

"Impossible."

The Frost Archer smiled back at him, her eyes confident.

"I've been practicing. Shall I?"

Tryndamere rolled his eyes. It was all he could do.

"Knock yourself out."

She pulled the arrow back, and the dark steel of the True-Ice bow flickered with something ancient. As calmly as she had pulled the bow taught, she released it, and he could feel the wind shudder ever so slightly.

There was barely any noise, nobody on the convoy noticed. Ashe returned the arrow to her back smoothly and with a sly smile.

"Fetch it for me, will you?"

* * *

There was a noise that turned Trundle's head, one of shattering rock. He saw a stream of bits fall downwards to him and his group as they scaled the last remaining feet of the mountaintop. He paid it no mind, and returned to scan the convoy and see if they still followed the usual route. They had clambered their way up the shadowed end of the mountain, and he could see the Avarosan expedition inch its way out form the last ridge of mountains. He could see them easy, but he doubted that they could see him. As long as they kept their route, he had nothing to fear.

He scuttled over the peak, finding flat ground amidst the loose snow for his team to gather, and soon he was outlining his plan.

"Last peak, gents. Daggercave is just over there, and once they pass this point we might as well try invading the ocean." he began, pointing to the black castle that stood a few kilometers away from The Ursine.

"So what do we do? Why wait until the last moment?" One of the trolls started.

"What do you think?!" Trundle laughed, "Come morning, they'll hug this mountain on the way to Daggercave. We just drop a couple of rocks and jobs done."

"What about the Barbarian King?" Another asked. "He's been climbing all of the tallest peaks around."

"Aye, but The Ursine is a pain to climb, and I think Tryndamere will be more concerned about the Shattered Helm. If it weren't for the King, we'd be at the Shattered Helm... but forget that. He can scale it, let him. He can watch our little avalanche. We're here for Ashe."

The Avarosan party was setting up camp, Trundle could tell, as they spread out and slowed down after they emerged from the mountain valley. Soon they'd be fast asleep, except for the Barbarian and his massive blade. There was no change in direction, they all seemed content, calm, unaware of the gang of trolls that were huddling at the top of the mountain. He rubbed his hands together, thinking of tomorrow and what it would bring.

"Now then gentlemen... We wait."

* * *

End Chapter


	11. King of the Hill

.

King of the Hill

* * *

"For fucks sakes." Trundle snorted as Tryndamere came into view a couple hundred meters below him. The Barbarian was still scaling his way up, to the Troll's irritation. When the morning came, Tryndamere rode towards The Ursine, absolutely not what Trundle had anticipated. Apparently he underestimated the Barbarian's affinity to go after tall peaks.

The troll thought quietly, brooding over his options while his team waited nervously behind him.

"Can't throw rocks at him, would give us away. Can't climb down to intercept him, he'll see us and our cover would be blown." The Troll King spoke out loud in thought.

"So..." One of the underlings started.

"Bah, we wait. Let him come up here and bash him. Simple. Just don't give him a moment to warn the others."

* * *

"For fucks sakes, Tryndamere." Tryndamere growled to himself, as he clung to the rock face.

This was stupid. The Shattered Helm was hundreds of times more threatening than this stupid rock. He never understood why it was called the Ursine anyway. People said that the contours showed the face of a enraged Ursine with lighting sprouting from its fangs, but he never saw it. Certainly he could not see this close, at least. Maybe from the Shattered Helm. So why did he climb up this damn rock?

He did it on a whim. Out of _dread_? Tryndamere couldn't believe that Ashe would have struck the top of the mountain, absolutely not. It was ridiculous. No matter how much practice, there were limits, god damn it.

But somehow, he felt differently. The dread was there. A aching curiosity that needed to be confirmed. Something amiss.

So he clambered up, sword and all. Many parts of the climb were vertical, but the fissures in the rock gave Tryndamere amble footing to inch his way up the precipice. It was all well and good until he had looked back towards the wagon train and saw how far up he was above the ground. That gave him pause.

Now every step was suddenly a massive effort, even with the peak almost in sight. He pushed upwards, scanning the rock-face for a sign of an arrow. The footing had become smoother more treacherous, but inch by inch Tryndamere began to move up once more.

Suddenly, his arms were stretched out, laying flat on rock. He heaved himself over and no wall of rock greeting him, only open space and a flurry of snow. The apex, at last.

The peak was messy and littered with rounded rocks pilled upon one another, jumbled together in one massive stood up and looked down at the valley below. The convoy was just about to move up the incline into the Valley. Just in time. He ran up to a higher point overlooking the valley.

First, he peered towards the Shattered Helm. The spikes of the fractured mountain stood silent, brooding, mysterious. But he did not see any movement on the slopes, or the peaks, no matter how hard he squinted. But that meant nothing. If there was a trap, it would be hiding in the shadows. Next he spied the valley itself, a narrow and sloped indentation between the two mountains. Once again, he couldn't spot signs of life.

Tryndamere knew he had to watch, be vigilant but his focus was broken, as he looked back at the slope where he had met Ashe the day before. He measured the angles, guessing where the arrow could have landed. Gods, it was a more than a few kilometers...

Tryndamere leapt downwards a bit, landing on another pile of rocks. He moved towards the edge, scanning the outcrops to try and spy the fletchings of an arrow shaft. Nothing. So he turned around, making his way up the apex, slowly and deliberately, checking every rock for a sign of Ashe's volley. Every rock was spotless. Nothing at all. A wild fucking goose chase...

_Crch._

Tryndamere spun around at the sound of broken snow, just before a enormous club slammed against his head. The blow fractured the skull horribly, and before he could think, he was on the ground vision black and body numb. The only thing he could feel was the taste of blood and bone in his mouth and the noises as voices approached him...

"Peace of cake, gents. Take a look at the King of the Freljord now!"

As the noise of trolls snickering at Tryndamere's apparent corpse, unaware that the fire had already seeped into his head, healing him, ballooning him upwards. His first thought was a strange one. _Not yet... _The pain was horrendous, but the swelling slowed to a trickle.

After a short while of prodding and jokes, Trundle lost interest in toying with the King.

"Alright gentlemen, the Convoy's almost in the valley. Lets go drop some rocks... Take care of the body later."

As the trolls shuffled away, Tryndamere blinked his eyes slowly as his eyesight returned. His ability to slow the healing effects of the inferno paid off with valuable information. An avalanche. Fearsomely smart, and there were at least 5 trolls prepared to heave to. Well, not that he was here.

He slowly got up to his feet, reaching back for his Claymore and bringing it forward. The trolls lumbered away, unaware, to his amusement. Tryndamere counted eleven. While he started to move forward, one of them paused and plucked something from a rock.

"Hey boss, check this out..."

Trundle turned around, staring at the object the underling produced, then to Tryndamere.

"What the _fuck?_"

Tryndamere groaned, irritated that he had lost his initiative. Then he spied what the underling was holding.

"Where'd you find... Give me that."

The troll looked at his item, then back to Tryndamere.

"Nu-uh."

Tryndamere leapt forward in reply, blade brandished. When he brought the blade down, he grinned vengefully, marveling at how easily it cut through the metal and flesh. The claymore was _ravenous_. It had been so long since he had taken part in a one-sided battle.

A gurgle was the best scream the troll could make as it fell to the ground and quickly Tryndamere spun forward, freeing his blade and swinging it towards the others-

_CRICK._

The blade was stopped by the Leader's club. Maybe this was not so one-sided as he thought.

"Back up lads, this looks like a proper royal duel."

The leader was tall, bulky and overconfident, but his club of ice was even more threatening, glowing bright with True Ice. Tryndamere gritted his teeth and spat a response.

"You're no king."

"I will be." Trundle shot back cooly, as the goons retreated further. "En Garde!"

Tryndamere rolled his eyes, and moved first. The Troll was strong but sloppy, brute force and unrelenting, just like Tryndamere. Unfortunately for the troll that Tryndamere excelled at these sorts of fights. Blow by blow their weapons collided, and foot by foot Trundle was pushed backwards. Pressed to a wall, the Troll leapt up to the peak, peering angrily at the Barbarian.

"I thought I killed you with that blow back there. What's your deal? I could see your brains!"

"I doubt I'd see any in _your_ skull." Tryndamere shot back, running up the peak and bringing his blade overhead. Trundle merely sidestepped, and suddenly Tryndamere was putting his feet out in front of him to slow down his ascent down the apex. Turning around, he snorted at the proud statue that stood at the apex.

"Lissandra told me about you. Told me to worry about that blade of yours. Said dark magics were afoot. Didn't expect it to be like _that_. Are you some boogie from the Shadow Isles?"

"_Lissandra_? Lissandra sent you?"

Trundle coughed awkwardly. "Er... Yeah! You thought we were your friends, but in truth we've been playing with you the whole tim-"

"I've never heard of you before!" Tryndamere shouted back, angry, suddenly fearful of the danger that Ashe was in. Lissandra, a foe? Betrayal? What could be happening at Rakelstake?

"Never heard of me?" Trundle rumbled angrily. "Well, soon enough all of Freljord will know about Trundle, the King of the Trolls... And how he put an end to Ashe, the Frost Arch-"

"Pretty sure they're just going to remember how painfully you _died_." Tryndamere roared, running forward.

"Not likely." The enormous troll laughed, as his left arm suddenly turned bright blue as magic flowed through it. He flung the arm upwards, and the blue magic faded instantly...

...then a enormous pillar of ice suddenly erupted in front of Tryndamere, too close to avoid. The wall slammed into him like a rock, flinging him back, back...Over the edge. Tryndamere didn't scream, or react, only looked down and measured how long he'd have to wait for impact.

He didn't have to wait long. An outcrop rose to meet him and he slammed into it, a couple hundred meters from the summit. Immediately he lashed out with one arm digging into the jagged ice. He slid, but his inhuman fire boiled right through the ice and stone. He arrested himself quickly, and the open gashes and splintered bones fused and healed just as quick.

Tryndamere stood up, fuming and alight, mind alert and thinking desperately. He needed to save Ashe. Protect her. The avalanche was coming. His voice would not reach them from here, he could run around the slope, but he'd be too slow.

He would have to make the climb again. End the trolls. No more games.

The fire leapt from his nostrils as he roared up the incline. He saw the rock that Trundle had thrown down towards him and sidestepped it smoothly. The troll king was desperate, he could smell it. The rocks were coming quickly now, and with the convoy on the other side of the mountain, they remained unalarmed. Trundle was intent on keeping him off the summit so his goons could do the dirty work. The clock was ticking, the seconds mattered, Tryndamere could feel it.

He could see the rockslide tumbling down... the horses crushed, the men dashed in the valley, Ashe buried... **_NO!_**

Tryndamere was back on the summit, his fury abating momentarily for him to realize that he had his blade in Trundle's flank. Blood ran from the stunned King's face as he stared into the eyes of the Inferno.

"H-how..."

But Tryndamere had already pulled his blade out, running at the rest of the Trolls, screaming in fury. The blade slipped to and fro, whipping left and right, drinking the blood greedily, thirsty and alive. The rocks where in their hands, they were helpless and running as he ran them down, one by one by one. Some lost their heads, others lost their waists. Soon streams of hot blood began cutting its way down the mountaintop, melting the snow and rolling down the rock face.

He saw the convoy passing beneath him, he could see it come to a halt as his shouts reached them. He stood towards the edge, planting his blade on a bloodied troll carcass. Maybe they had a looking-glass... Maybe Ashe was looking at him right now...

For some strange reason he was grinning. Shaking from the disbelief, amazed at his own feat and relieved that his promise was fulfilled. It was a close call. One rock could have ended it all... and not one had fallen. He had kept his honor...

His right arm shuddered in pain, his claymore fell down the slope. Tryndamere glanced down to see the ragged stump of where his hand once gripped his weapon.

"Maybe its that _blade_." Trundle yelled savagely, swinging his club once more, right into Tryndamere's lower back, knocking him off the slope.

He was falling... falling into darkness... the slope rushed up to him... He was tumbling down... down...

Darkness.

* * *

End Chapter


	12. Homeland

.

Homeland

* * *

Tryndamere woke up to a world of agony. An attempt to shift himself into a comfortable position only told him that he was bandaged and how weakened his frame was. The embers in his mind flared softly, lazy and ineffective. So instead Tryndamere tested his facial muscles. Frowning and opening his mouth slightly, he could feel the burns and cuts on his face. He curved his neck ever so slightly...

"Tryndamere?"

Tryndamere closed his eyes and sighed, letting his head fall back. Of course she would be here. He mumbled in affirmation.

"Here, have a drink."

The water was cold, and cleared this throat well. He felt Ashe's hand gently rest on his shoulder as she gave him the draught.

"You had quite the stumble."

"My weapon..."

"Peace. We're in Daggercave now. Everything is all right."

Tryndamere kept his eyes closed, trying to order his thoughts and control his temper, no matter how irritated he was with her act.

"How.. rrr.." He started, clearing his throat, "How long was I asleep?"

"Just a day."

Tryndamere grimaced, trying raise his head. Ashe's hand was on his chest then, gently pushing him down.

"Tryndamere..."

"Please." He managed to growl, reaching out with his right hand. He saw his thumb in the corner of his vision, and he grinned slightly out of relief. His healing properties persisted.

Ashe's face came into sight, solemn and tender. There was no edge in her eyes, the blue duller than Tryndamere was used to. It was a strange look. He had never seen her wear it before.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The pressured disappeared, and then Ashe's hands suddenly held Tryndamere by the shoulders, helping him up. The pain was fiery and everywhere, but Tryndamere didn't wince as he bent upwards into a sitting position. The room seemed lighter sitting up, and with a view of the room he could tell he was deep within the castle.

"Hm." He said dully, as he stared down at the bandages that covered his skin, testing his body once more. He looked to Ashe.

She was sitting by his bedside, with wearing her blue and gold clock, along with a melancholy look.

"As I said, it was quite the fall."

Tryndamere flexed his right hand despite the pain. The healing was strong, but slow. He wanted his sword now, to end the agonizing wait. Yet when he addressed Ashe, he couldn't help but ask her.

"Why are you sad?"

"Why?" Ashe responded with a weak grin, "Tryndamere, I dragged you up here and nearly got you killed."

The barbarian frowned, unsympathetic and skeptical.

"I saved the convoy, and your life. It was a damn good thing I came."

Ashe shook her head slightly, unconvinced.

"I was so lost in confidence, I wasn't thinking. I thought the trip would entertain you, to be able to see the caves, and I thought you could show me Fyrone Flats... And now you've got at least 7 fractured bones..."

Tryndamere was more confused than angry with how emotional Ashe was at this point.

"Give it a rest. I don't care about stupid fractures. All that matters is that you're safe."

He groaned slightly, realizing how sappy that sounded.

"I thought you were going to die..." Ashe apologized warily.

"A stumble is not how I'll die." Tryndamere almost laughed, but the bitterness hid the humor.

There was a moment of silence, and Tryndamere decided to speak.

"It was my fault I fell."

Ashe just looked at him, and he could tell she had not expected him to say that. He didn't anticipate it either, but her sorry state was unbearable to look at.

"I... didn't kill the big one. I don't remember much, but I had my foot on his throat and I went off like an idiot to take care of his underlings. Then I was stupid enough to call for your attention. I should have made sure they were all taken care of."

A memory suddenly floated back into his mind, and without control Tryndamere blurted it out.

"L-Lissandra sent them... Ashe, Lissandra is-"

"No longer our ally. I am aware."

Tryndamere didn't know how Ashe learned of it, but it comforted him all the same.

"Good... I never liked her from the start, truth be told."

Ashe smiled weakly, her mind elsewhere. Tryndamere soured slightly, annoyed by her disengagement. How long would she be blue over this whole event?

"Fine then... Where is my sword?"

"Here."

"Can I have it?"

"Tryndamere, you need rest, not your sword."

Tryndamere gave an irritated grunt. The Frost Archer may be a queen, but she wasn't his damn doctor.

"Sword, _please._"

Fascinatingly enough, Ashe complied. Tryndamere didn't know whether he liked the change or not. The compliance was nice, but the long face was so much more taxing on his conscious. His train of thought was interrupted when he heard the blade drag over the stone floor as she brought it to the bedside.

"Took two men to carry, I don't know how you do it." Ashe started as Tryndamere reached out and grabbed the claymore.

The handle was hot as a iron poker, the burning seared through his body instantly. Inside the flames flared higher, the conflagration spreading everywhere at once. He felt the wounds close, the internal bruises toughen and drain, the shatter bones dissolve as stronger frames took its place. He tested his body carefully, then swung his legs over and looked at Ashe. He knew where to go.

"You wanted to see the Tundra, correct?"

Ashe had stood up and had moved backwards, quiet and eyes widened slightly.

"Why?" Tryndamere continued.

"You... You don't need to push yourself."

Tryndamere had enough of her attempts to pacify him. If she dragged him all the way up here to look at the Fyrone Flats, he might as well show her the damn Flats. He stood up, realizing that Ashe didn't understand his nature yet, by how she looked at him with astonishment. Good. He didn't want her to know.

"Lets go."

* * *

The stableboy nearly screamed when he saw the bandaged King march up to him, but managed to cover it up with a hiccup. Pale and wordless, he prepared two horses as quickly as he could. As they rode out from Daggercave Northeast towards the plains, Tryndamere noticed the flora shrivel and turn into rugged grasses and lichens as they came closer and closer to the flats. After an hour, they were there.

The morning sun was still up as they trotted down into the fragile landscape. The grubby dirt and snow crumbled and crunched as the horses trotted over to a small little incline. Tryndamere dismounted, claymore in hand, and stared long at the world that he grew up in.

_Crch. Crch. Crch._

He looked over to his right as Ashe took her place at his side.

"Tell me. Why did you want to see... this."

She looked at him, and for some strange reason he could see the apprehension in her eyes. He was intimidating her.

"I..."

"Come on." He insisted, unintentionally malicious, patience draining.

"I-I just wanted to see where you came from. To see your..."

Tryndamere's eyes narrowed. He didn't understand her, and it annoyed him that he never could. For as long as he knew Ashe, she handled his rage as if it was a toddler, cooly and calmly. Just before the trip she was brimming with confidence, smiles and jokes at every sentence. He actually enjoyed her wit... and to see her so affected by his coarseness didn't make any sense.

"My homeland? This? Thats it?"

Ashe just kept her eyes focused on the horizon.

"I want to understand how you grew up, out here. I want to know your past."

The statement only aroused fire in Tryndamere. Not at her, but at the memories.

"Bones, Ashe." Tryndamere muttered. He couldn't keep control, the rage was too much.

"_Bones._ Every where you step here, you walk among the skeletons of my ancestors, all the way back to the end of Avarosa's Reign. The tundra is a cruel place, why would anyone try to live here?"

Ashe said nothing.

"Why?" Tryndamere continued, gesturing out to the horizon, "Because out there, veins of metal jut out from the landscape, rich in iron and other metals. People would scrape up what they could and hide back in the little caves and grovels to pound the metal into weapons. _Weapons._ They'd flash freeze them in the blizzards and use them to cut down others, to steal goods and supplies. For ages they have done this. This is the struggle I was born into. A pathetic, stupid, pointless struggle."

The wind picked up briefly, then died down.

"The Barbarians up here all know the stories of Sejuani the Warrior, Lissandra the Wise, Avarosa the Courageous, yet they grow up to kill and slaughter their own countrymen. They are all Freljordian, but there is no unity, no peace. All of this because the Freljord is not unified, because these Barbarians could not manage with the chaos and struggle in the south, below the melt. They are scared of the south, the wars and the clans, scared of _their own countrymen,_ so they live in the Tundras, a life of misery. They are too busy fighting to survive to consider peace. If the Freljord was unified once more..."

He looked at her, and then back out to the blank horizon.

"Then nobody would have to live here. Nobody would have to kill their fellow countrymen out of fear and desperation. Nobody would have to put up with such _injustice_. I was born here, I lived in the struggle, and I learned how futile and cruel it all was. I decided I would put an end to it at any means necessary. That's all you need to know. Everything else is just... detail."

Ashe remained silent, until Tryndamere grabbed her slightly on the shoulder. She shrunk away, but Tryndamere moved with her. He had to understand.

"Do you fear me?"

"I.. Sorry."

Tryndamere frowned, confused, as he released her. She acted like he had struck her. Why would she act like that?

"You doubt my honor?"

"No!" Ashe responded quickly, "I just don't want to annoy you. You're burdened already."

"Burdens are meaningless to me." Tryndamere reminded her, pressing onward. "Have I ever doubted you? Complained? Have I ever harmed you?"

"_No_. You haven't."

"I trust you. I respect you. You have nothing to fear, so why are you so...?"

Ashe avoided his gaze, clasping her hands together as she stared back out to the vapid landscape.

"I just... I nearly failed, with you almost getting killed... I'm just a bit shaken. I'm sorry, I know you're mad, I know its not-"

_Failed? Worried about me?_ Tryndamere shook his head, confused about where this discussion was headed, trying to absorb what he just heard._  
_

"Sorry? Sorry about what? I know what's on the line, if you... _we _fail. There's nothing wrong with being scared of failure... And why would I be mad at you? You didn't send the trolls up there did you?"

Ashe looked back at him, flushed and nervous.

"No... But you didn't have to bring me up here. You're in pain..."

"You know better then anyone that I like the fresh air, Ashe."

"Yes, but..."

"No 'buts', **_gods_**, its unbecoming. Lissandra didn't take Rakelstake, we're both alive and breathing, I can't understand..."

He chuckled at the humor of the situation, how their roles were so strangely reversed. She was the one who smiled and teased.

"You should be _happy_, Ashe. Everything's _fine_."

She tried to grin, Tryndamere could see the effort, but something held her back and kept her sober. Her hand traveled upwards, as if she wanted to reach out to him... She swayed forward a bit... Then her hand dropped back to her side.

"I... Understand, Tryndamere. I was just... caught off guard by the whole event."

She was calm now, her tone one of grace and control, and the fear gone. Tryndamere was happy that her sorrow had finally passed over. A relief, actually.

"Things happen all the time, things beyond your control. Don't fret about what happened, it can always be worse."

A pause.

"Did you sleep?"

"I caught some rest."

Tryndamere saw through it, the flames whispering him the truth. He walked over to his horse, grabbing its reigns.

"Well catch up with your sleep, anyways. Who knows what tomorrow will bring... and this is supposed to be a _vacation_."

He grinned at that one. It was a weak joke, but it coaxed a slight smile out of her. It was a start. As they rode back to Rakelstake, he realized that she must have stayed by his side for the duration of his unconsciousness. Why she did that, he couldn't grasp. Stranger still, it didn't concern him...

* * *

Trundle groaned, pressuring his bandages. Still, it wasn't lethal as he once thought it would be. Thanks to his savior and his treatments, the wound healed rapidly.

"Why'd you help me?" He grumbled cautiously, "Why'd you _stop _me?"

"You'd have gotten an arrow in your head if you tried to throw the rock, and Ashe would have gotten away."

"Mmm." Trundle sighed, "At least I got Tryndamere."

"Doubtful." The black creature responded.

Trundle groaned and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" he complained, "What kills that guy?"

Aatrox chuckled humorlessly.

"So what now?" Trundle continued.

"You go back to your queen and give her my proposition."

"Queen?"

"Lissandra. Don't play dumb with me, I know you were sent by her."

Trundle shrugged, defiant.

"Sent, but she's not my queen."

"She's not?"

"Just a partner. Means to an end."

Aatrox grinned.

"Like me and Sejuani, then. Well, go and tell your partner to move out after the winter season. With Sejuani and Lissandra's forces, we'll take care of Ashe and Tryndamere as they return to Rakelstake."

Trundle rubbed his chin, thinking.

"They could easily retreat to Daggercave and call out reinforcements. We'd be caught in the open. Thats a gamble. A decisive one. "

Aatrox's smile widened.

"Yes, a gamble, but after its done, you'll be king, and our partners will be mere memories."

Trundle laughed, catching Aatrox's drift.

"Great minds think alike..." He confirmed, reaching out to shake the monster's hand.

* * *

End Chapter


	13. A Betrayal, A Sword, and A Dream

.

A Betrayal, A Sword, and A Dream

* * *

"Milord!" A voice called out to Tryndamere, rousing him from his thoughts. He was sitting on one of the stone benches in the sparring grounds, hand on his chin, thinking back to months prior.

"Matilda?" Tryndamere answered, recognizing the old maids face.

"What the blazes are you doing, rugged and unshaven? Might I remind you you're to talk with the Royal Demacian entourage in the afternoon?"

"Yes, yes... I know..." Tryndamere responded, rolling his eyes with the thought of Demacians and their golden, frilly attires.

"Then lets go! You need to spruce up and get dressed!"

Tryndamere sighed, standing up. He didn't want to squeeze into the hot and choking royal guise, but he didn't want to mess with the old maid. She reported straight to Ashe, and her wit was just as sharp as the Queen's.

"Lets go then."

"What were you even dreaming about anyway?" Matilda tittered, "What sort of king yahoo's around in the courtyard right before a ball?"

"Me, I guess." Tryndamere responded dully, leading her up the steps.

"Not to mention your table manners: You better take your time at the feast, you hear?"

"Yes."

"And your posture! Straighten up, straighten up."

Tryndamere grumbled. His right arm throbbed, desperate to collide the old lady's jaw. But he did not follow its lead.

"And _please_ tell me you'll leave the sword outsi-"

"No." Tryndamere responded, turning around, smiling in disbelief, but the inferno roused and temper flaring. "Correct away, lady, but the sword stays with _me_."

Matlida just shrugged in defeat, as Tryndamere spun around and walked to the baths.

The water was as cold as possible, but it was warm as any other bath when Tryndamere hopped in. Quickly he lathered and washed away all of the dirt and grime... If there was any. Matilda had been forcing him to do this for weeks before the event. It was as if she didn't even believe he knew how to wash himself, as if streams didn't exist in Freljord.

As he scrubbed his back, he glanced to the sword that lay by the tub. For a moment, he thought back towards Matilda's request, thinking about how angry he had become, how quickly he had lost his temper.

The thought took him back...

* * *

Racklestake was under siege.

The moment Tryndamere had heard the news, he was staring down a stalagmite, pondering how long it had taken to form. When he had walked out into the courtyards of Daggercave, he was met with a frenzy of activity as the castle exploded in paranoia, and nearly everyone's lips trembled with fear. How long would it hold? How large was the force?

Anivia remained cryptic as usual, to Tryndamere's frustration. It was a congregation of trolls, she had said, along with a force of humans that bore the mark of the Watchers. Most definitely Lissandra. Sejuani was also on the move to Racklestake, only days away. But with what numbers? How damaged was city? How old was the siege?

He walked up the steps ramparts, taking in the view. The mist nearly covered The Ursine out in the distance, but the storm season had passed. They were going to leave on the morrow, but the news had halted those plans.

He found Ashe in her quarters, staring down at a map of Runeterra. Tryndamere frowned at that. Why care about the world? Freljord was where the battle was.

"Your thoughts?" He started.

"All over." Ashe responded, shaking her head, "Anivia's information is jarring, true, but a force of trolls cannot breach the walls, even if they are lead by Lissandra."

"So? They will burn the crops and starve out the city."

"Harvests have been good. The stocks are full and Racklestake can last longer than their supplies."

"But Sejuani..."

"Sejuani may be coming to repel the trolls, and if thats the case she would have no entrance to the city."

Tryndamere frowned.

"You're going to let her decide things?"

Ashe looked up, her face sharp in thought.

"Aye... Its a risk, but-"

"No buts." Tryndamere laughed, waving his hand, swatting aside Ashe's comment. "We must go and repel them ourselves."

Ashe was quiet, brooding, weighing options. How long had she been doing this? The answer was simple.

"...Ashe. Trusting Sejuani is madness. Sure, she is closer, but with a mounted force we can overtake her and do the fight ourselves."

"And then face Sejuani in the field? Again?"

"So? You beat her once before, we'll do it again!"

Ashe was unconvinced, but her voice rose in defense.

"The strain on the troops, Trolls are no easy-"

"Can't you see Ashe?!" Tryndamere insisted, excited, slightly irritated. "This is the _moment. _This battle will end it _all, _get rid of Lissandra and Sejuani in one fell swoop."

"Tryndamere, I..."

"Now is not a time for weakness!"

Ashe's blue eyes faltered, fading into purple as the flames assaulted her. She tried to speak, but Tryndamere kept going, as the fire in the room leapt into a crackle.

"Stop..."

"We'll go to Avarosa's Perch. They'll charge us, we'll hold our ground and they'll be pincered as Racklestake's garrison empties out... Gods, its easy, Ashe. They have nowhere to run!"**  
**

Her eyes ran red now, and for a moment the corners of her mouth curled back in a smile as adrenaline rushed through her. He _had _her, at long last...

**"NO!"**

Her hands went up to her face, and her body shuddered, as if she suffered a seizure. Tryndamere stood there, mouth agape. She resisted? Why couldn't he control her? What did he...

...What was he **_doing_**?

"OUT. Get... **OUT...**" She roared, looking up at him with a face that held a whole host of emotions, eyes burning blue like the brightest flames. The emotions... Rage... Fear... Agony... All gushed out at once.

"Ash-"

**"I did not ask for your blood magics, you... you... _out_! _OUT_!"**

And he was away, walking... body shivering, stumbling... he didn't understand. He didn't understand why he walked away. He could have subdued her... he would have made her understand, make her eyes bleed fire once more... But he couldn't. The dread clung to his heart, it made him glance at every face, at every movement. He was on fire. He was parched. He needed the cold but it never graced him... He stared at the mountaintop. The air was cooler up there. He would climb. He needed to feel again... He needed to cool down...

* * *

The mountain was steep, and remorseful. Tryndamere glanced down and saw the fires of the castle down below him, just barely through the fog. The air was frozen up here, as much as the Great Plateau...

But the inferno did not leave him. It tormented him, as he curled up to the mountainside momentarily to cling to his blade, for a momentary flare of respite...

Then higher... He needed to go _higher..._

"What brings you to my perch, Fiery One? Is it fury, or something else?"

Tryndamere blinked, and suddenly he saw Cyropheonix, nuzzling her frozen wings, a mere 50 meters above him. Her voice was booming and sharp to his ears.

"**Please, help me. I'm... on FIRE." **He screamed, lurching upwards.

"Did you not listen to my words? Heed my warnings?" Anivia continued, "I had told you to keep the flames in chec-"

"**ITS NOT POSSIBLE!" **Was the reply, **"Its... my NATURE..."**

"A coward's response, Tryndamere." Anivia _spat_ back, angered, "Have you not forgotten Udyr and how he showed you your affinity?"

"**I.. am... a MONSTER."** The flames responded, climbing higher.

"And Avarosa was Iceborn. Yet she chose freedom, not frozen chains. "

"**Different times, dumbass chicken. Now ther-"**

**"COWARD'S WORDS. Its against your nature, barbarian? Then return to your wasteland to slaughter your countrymen. Was that not your nature?"**

Tryndamere was only meters away, his claymore brandished. Something deep inside him compelled him to leap, to swing, to end this crow's pathetic life, but staring into the eyes of the Cyropheonix, after the sudden roar that echoed in his ears , something escaped his lips.

"I.."

**"YOU are the master, Tryndamere. I made it clear to you before. All of this lies ON YOUR HANDS."**

Tryndamere said nothing, but somehow he leaned against the rugged slope, cradling his claymore in his hands.

"So tell me. Why did you use your blood magic?" Anivia started.

"I didn't... mean to..." Tryndamere managed, his voice a shadow. "It was so clear to me... Ashe wasn't making the right decision."

"So you tried to coerce her?"

"I didn't _mean_ to, **damn it**!" Tryndamere shouted, "This fire... I get lost in it..."

"Why."

"Because! I don't notice! It blindsides me and I just **DO **things."

"That is no excuse."

"Then TELL me!" Tryndamere cried out, frustrated and still sweating in heat. "Tell me how to rid myself of this... I want it gone!"

"You cannot remove it, Tryndamere, but you can control it. Why not separate yourself from its fuel?"

"Fuel?" Tryndamere managed, uncertain.

"You know exactly what it is."

Tryndamere sat there, quietly, staring down at the shimmering blade.

"If you learn to release your grip on that blade, to stay separate from it at your discretion..."

"But... It saved me..."

"And it will, in the future. But one can never shake hands if you always grip a weapon. You will never be free if you cannot distinguish war from peace... _Let it go._"

The answer was simple.

"...**No**."

The silence was deafening, and the Cyropheonix's eyes widened, slightly. Out of surprise? _Good._ Tryndamere thought darkly, forgetting how hot he was, smiling cruelly... The inferno crackled greedily...

"Then Ashe was wrong."

Tryndamere rolled his eyes, fed up with the mystery.

"What does... _did_... she see in me_,_ Anivia_?_ I am a warrior."

"You were _everything, _fool_._ She pinned it all on you. She saw past you, saw past your anger, rage and hate, and saw something beautiful. She saw a future for Freljord, where all of the hate and anger that had pitched countryman against countryman would wash away to reveal something purer. You were the promise, the proof, that her dream would be reality... I suppose she was wrong."

The dread wrenched his stomach, at his core, and he just sat there, stunned. The flames... flickered.

"She..."

"You betrayed her, Tryndamere. You broke your promise, dishonored your heritage... and I can only assume put an end to her dream."

He couldn't help but think of her now, the dread _hurt._

"I stand by what I say, Tryndamere. It all rests on you. _Everything_."

He looked to Anivia, as she spread her wings and disappeared into the mist. For a moment he stared at the whiteness, the emotionless fog, before his eyes flickered back down to his hands. They clung to the claymore, leaching its heat, warm and powerful. It was power only he could grasp, the strength that had taken him this far. This far from the injustice... To let go now? He couldn't... Couldn't he?

He thought of Ashe. He wondered what she thought of him, all that time from the moment she had sent that envoy with a rickety wagon full of swords and shields, or the first time her blue eyes stared down at him. She had believed in him...

There was a stillness, and in that frozen moment he realized something. Something he hadn't known for all of the time he stood by Ashe, and only now he could speak the truth. Anivia was wrong. It was not her dream.

"Our dream."

* * *

The fireplace was charcoal, the flames left to die. The room was dark, except for one lone candle that illuminated the Freljord, and the Queen's somber face, staring down at the future.

"Ashe."

The face glanced upwards, and scowled. There were circles around the eyes, he could tell despite the dim lighting.

"Get out."

"Ashe, please..."

The barbarian walked forward, hands extended, holding nothing. A universal gesture. _Nothing up my sleeves._

Ashe blinked, but remained unconvinced.

"No."

"Ashe, I wronged you. I broke my word."

"I _noticed._"

"I'm sorry."

"No. You're not."

The barbarian continued to advance gently, arms still presented.

"I've been... I'm not... normal."

"I know."

"But I mean what I said, out in the Tundra. _I still do."_

The Frost Archer's eyebrows weakened, and her voice turned into one of hurt.

"How could you..."

"..."

"Do you know how _scared_ the men are now?!" She croaked, pain in her voice. "They think the worst. They think Raklestake is ashes. All because... _Damn _you."

The words hurt both of them, but the warrior reached across the table and laid his hand on hers, gently.

"It doesn't matter. We will persevere. Please, Ashe, if I could take it all back, I would. I just wanted the best... I could almost see victory..."

"You saw the bloodshed." The Frost Archer spat, jerking her hand away. "_Out_."

"Ashe... Please. Anything." The warrior pleaded.

Silence.

"I... Need to make things right... For _you_." He began, "So you can catch a glimpse of that world where Freljord is united, where our people are at peace. Only you can do that..."

He kneeled at the desk, his face level with the candle, looking to the ground.

"I came here because I believe in you. I believe in that future... and want you to have it."

It was a long time before Ashe responded. The moment hung in the air, quiet and profound, as she struggled to make a decision.

"Tryndamere."

"Yes."

"Tell me... Tell me what I should do."

The warrior looked right into the eyes of the Queen of Freljord.

"Mobilize the troops. Make a line at Avarosa's perch and draw the army away from Rakelstake. When they rush us, Raklestake will follow them up Avarosa's perch and pincer them on two fronts. If the line holds, which it will, we would make short work of them, and be at a superior position if Sejuani arrives."

The silence continued, the Queen rose to her feet, her face unreadable. There was another dreadful pause...

"Rise."

The warrior stood up, and the Frost Archer walked straight up to him, right into his eyes, and past them. The world slowed to a halt as they both peered through each other's cracks, trying to catch a glimpse at something deep within.

"Never again."

"_Never._" The King promised.

* * *

Tryndamere walked out of the royal suite, dressed in the finest clothes the wardrobe could offer. The silver sash and grey plate stood out against the white background, as if you were looking at Freljord itself. He made eye contact with Matilda at the doorway, pausing to give her audience. He knew what to do.

"Now that's a King." The Maid responded, with a smile. "Hurry, I hear that they're not far in coming. You should stroll around at let all of the castle see."

Tryndamere flashed a quick smirk, aware of the avalanche of annoying compliments, curtsies, and grins that he would have to withstand. But he would manage. He propped his blade at the wall, looking to Matlida once more. His hand griped the radiating weapon, basking in its fury...

He let go.

* * *

End Chapter


	14. Setting the Stage

.

Setting the Stage

* * *

Lissandra scarcely reacted as an arrow whizzed by her right and stuck into the arm of one of her followers. The man grunted in pain as he reached over to yank the arrowhead out. The siege was going poorly. The walls of Raklestake were tall and powerful, and the force that manned the battlements were stubborn warriors who clung to freedom and unity tightly. The trolls and their massive bulks did not frighten them, and the ramparts had repelled all who scaled it.

Lissandra surveyed the wall with her ears and her magics, faintly recalling a time where it was only a ten feet in hight. Back then, Avarosa welcomed all without fear or reproach, but it now the wall grew high throughout the years of chaos, lead by fearful rulers who closed their gates more often than keeping them open.

_I warned you, sister, of what would happen if you left the decision to humans. There will be no unity, there will only be fear._

Lissandra looked to the sky, searching the clouds for the blasted Cyropheonix. It had been only a couple days since she felt the grand bird's energies soaring far above them, and her absence unsettled her. Sejuani should be arriving soon, that blasted creature of hers better not have led them astray.

"Trundle. Where is the Troll King?" She announced, turning to her right on impulse.

"By the wall." The stoic man replied, completely ignoring his past wound.

"Bring him here."

After that, more arrows were loosed, and the siege abated, like the tide. Outside of arrow range, Lissandra surveyed the battlements one more time before addressing Trundle. The Troll King was at peak shape, despite the large wound that he had arrived with. A gift from Sejuani's associate, Lissandra gathered, but the phenomenon unsettled her.

"Do you have any suspicion as to why Sejuani hasn't arrived?"

Trundle shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe they caught the royals as they were heading south. Rough roads... Possible Avalanche..."

"I know those possibilities. I am considering you may have been tricked."

"Me? Tricked?" The Troll laughed heartily, "I never knew you had a tongue for humor, my queen."

Lissandra wished desperately that she had eyes to glare at him with. She kept her fangs back, though. Not the time for anger. Off in the distance, she heard the clatter of hooves, the breath of an FrostGuard scout. What news did he bring?

"Regardless of my wit, Trundle, we need to be able to enter the city on our own, with or without Sejuani's help. I'm sure you have a plan."

"Saltpeter, of course." Trundle replied cooly, producing something and offering it to Lissandra. Feeling the movement, Lissandra reached out and felt the jagged rock, weighing it in her hands.

"Straight from the walls, my Queen. Holes have been created, deep enough for the explosives to have an effect. Been working hard, but soon we should be able to light all four fuses tomorrow. The walls will tumble and we'll pour in from all angles."

The block of rock felt heavier with the words, Lissandra could feel it. Lissandra remembered her sisters' words when they first laid eyes on the wall, when she could still see. There was a bit of remorse, but Lissandra shook it away. It was necessary.

"It took you this long?" She replied, letting the rock fall back into Trundle's hands, "Its barely a stone."

Trundle shrugged, unapologetic. "The wall was tough. Broke our picks and hammers and spikes. Can't have any explanation other than magic."

Lissandra sighed, shaking her head. Of course it was. Avarosa fighting back, as always.

"My Queen!"

The scout had arrived. He pulled up close to the Ice Witch, and she already knew what he was about to say.

"Sejuani has entered the Valley. Her force is sizable, and she has told me that she will be on the battlefield alongside you tomorrow."

"Wonderful." Lissandra responded, "Tell me, how are our odds?"

"If the siege goes well, we should have no problem eliminating her. Just enough to outnumber Ashe's force, but small enough for us to deal with."

"Perfect."

* * *

Sejuani peered carefully at the peaks and the slopes. Although she knew that the fight was at Racklestake, she couldn't shake the excitement for the coming battle. Her hand twitched, and her nose itched constantly. She fought the urge to scratch it.

"The scout should have reached Raklestake by now." The Ursine rumbled, at her right.

"Yes, and he will report our weakness." Sejuani muttered with a dark grin. Numbers may be against her, thanks to the blasted Frost Archer and the calamitous siege of Racklestake, but she had the Ursine and her demon. Quality over quantity.

"When do you suppose she will turn against us?" The barbarian to her left announced, riding on top of horse, with his two enormous axes clasped by one powerful hand, warming up for the future battle.

"Once we're at the keep, no sooner." Sejuani explained cooly, "We must beat her there, and then take the throne for ourselves. The keep is much a much stronger position to hold than somewhere in the town. Trolls may be strong, but Lissandra will be surprised to learn that my force is stronger."

"Ra... I was hoping we'd hold the tavern." The Axeman replied, to Sejuani's amusement. Bristle grunted as he hoped over a small ravine, leading the host in a calm, slow pace.

"After the battle is won, Olaf. Not before."

"What of Ashe and Tryndamere?" The bear asked.

Sejuani looked backwards, towards the peaks of the north, towards the Frost Archer. "Let them freeze up in DaggerCave. Ashe is too much of a babe to ride down and defend her country. We'll deal with her later."

"Then what of... The dark one?" The behemoth pressed forward.

"He will stay with until I give him what we promised. Volibear. I understand your caution, but he is necessary. No more on the matter."

"Yes, Sejuani."

* * *

The ride was short, but the toll it took on the men was visible. The rough paths that the horses galloped down had given sores by the plenty. Hopefully, tomorrow, the rawness would abate. If it did not, the adrenaline of battle would take care of things. It was all minor detail in the end.

There were no fires as they settled on the northern slope of Avarosa's perch. Men covered themselves in grey coats and quilts to survive the night, and the world was so blissfully quiet as the sun crept closer and closer downwards. He was so absorbed in the silence, he didn't even notice Ashe approach him until she spoke his name.

"Yes?"

"I take it you'll stand guard?"

"Of course. The clothes we took are good enough to cover us, I doubt we'll be caught. Are the horses taken care of?"

"Down in the valley, grazing in a couple of forest acres. They should go unnoticed."

"Good."

Ashe nodded, taking a seat across from him, watching him she always had.

"Are you nervous?" She began.

"Aye." Tryndamere responded, not in the mood to try and avoid her questions.

"Yeah... who isn't. Stupid question." She agreed, looking down at the pebbles and sand at their feet.

"It goes for our enemy as well. Never forget that."

Ashe nodded. Tryndamere grumbled, as he gazed over their company.

"Not even two hundred men. Its going to be damn hard to hold our ground. Some of the boys at the stable were of age..."

Tryndamere caught Ashe's gaze.

"I drew blood at the ripe age of fourteen. I'm being frank."

Ashe nodded, unperturbed. "You made them stay."

Tryndamere barely grinned, looking towards the valley. "Aye. We do the bloody work. They wouldn't make a difference. Not here."

She wasn't mad with him and his loose tongue, however. Hell, after all of the pain that Tryndamere had put her through at Daggercave, she still sat by him, asking him questions, listening to him with the same strange sort of reverence she had for him since the day they first met. It no longer irked him like it had done in the past, but now it confused him. How much patience existed in this woman? It was extraordinary, and he couldn't understand it.

He was to absorbed to ask her _why_, the lingering of dread still remained. So instead...

"Tomorrow will reveal all. And I promise you, it will be a grand sight. Now... rest. You need those eyes for tomorrow. Your arrows must fly true.."

She smiled as she rose, eyes full of trust, trust that shouldn't have existed. She wished him well, she told him not to worry. She left him there, let him stare at the earth and count the moments. There were calm ones, and nervous ones. He spent time thinking of Sejuani, of Lissandra, of the battle and the objectives. He thought back to his ancestors, of the tales of old, searching for guidance. He spent time thinking of her, thinking of why her eyes always seemed so deep, how her skin had become so white, and why she had put her hand on his before she went to sleep, just to his right. He almost had the answer, but the rising sun cut across his eyes.

The morning was already upon him.

* * *

End Chapter


	15. Courage

.

Courage

* * *

The morning sun was bright and piercing, and from the flats of Avarosa's Perch Tryndamere and the rest of the force could see for miles. It was so clear that Tryndamere swore he could spy Sejuani's host weave out of the hills to the north, less than an hour away. He could certainly see the plums of smoke and ash that rose from the city of Raklestake, smoldering and dead fires exhaling their last dying breath. The smoke gave him peace of mind, proof that the city still held.

They crept to the edge, where they would make their stand, and surveyed the forces beneath them. Tryndamere frowned at the sight of all of the trolls and armored footmen, but the larger the bulk, the more gravity would come to their aid.

Their force would be stretched as thin as it could be, shoulder to shoulder, large but thin shields to deflect the arrows, and short-swords to fight in close combat. One could easily call the strategy madness, even if there was a lack of calvary in Lissandra's force. All of the horses that he could see seemed designed to pull siege equipment and supplies, not to ride into battle. That one fact could make all the difference: A calvary charge would near impossible to withstand, the line would not hold. But as long as they pulled the force from the city walls, the entrenched city would be able to organize and send out its forces. Trapped, Lissandra would be caught between two impossible decisions: Protect her siege and her army's supplies, or push towards Ashe. An impossible choice.

All that they needed to do was hold the line.

"The fifth time we've looked at her force." Ashe murmured, to his left.

"By your insistence," Tryndamere returned, "I think the time for dwelling is over. You can hear the charges detonate. The wall is crumbling."

"Aye. Now more than ever."

Tryndamere sat up, looking to Ashe, who turned on her side to face him.

"No need to lay low now," He proclaimed, standing up and offering his hand. "The dice are in the air."

Ashe took his hand, standing up. Her grey armor covered her frame in a spartan fashion, and her blue-gold clock spilled out behind her, her hood pulled back to boast a transparent, shimmering blue crown. On her white hair, the crown seemed to glow and shimmer with a pale, moonlight intensity. He could see the flush in her face, and the excitement, the anxiety had wormed its way into him as well. He could almost feel the crown, shattered and bloodstained...

"Courage." Ashe muttered under her breath. He thought she was addressing herself, but the way she held his hand told otherwise. He pushed his thoughts out of his mind and brought his arm forward, bringing forth a sudden rush of noise occurred as their force marched towards the edge.

"Its your kingdom," He gestured towards the scene below, "Claim it."

Ashe nodded and took a step forward, in front of Tryndamere, on center stage. She took a shallow breath, exhaled. Then a deep breath...

* * *

The morning was chaotic as usual, yet this time it was accompanied by the cracks and booms of Trundle's dynamite crippling the walls that had kept her forces at bay. Lissandra was impassive, but internally her mood was concerned. The fact that the walls would be breeched so soon, without Sejuani's reinforcements, did not sit well with her despite being ahead of schedule. It was the wisest decision to simply pull back the troops as the walls crumbled and wait, and so she called for Trundle to relay her orders.

The King lumbered over, a welt over his eye where a pebble of ice had ricocheted off of, judging by the heat on his forehead. Lissandra's ears perked at the sound of metal, distant yet echoing. Sejuani's forces? Too small of a force. Probably the guards on Racklestake's ramparts.

"Yeh, Lissandra?"

"Start bringing back the troops. We want to wait for Sejuani to invade the city."

"Righto."

"Any mention of Sejuani's forces?"

Before Trundle had a chance to reply, a shout reverberated in the air.

**"TREACHERY."**

Lissandra froze, twisting to hear the source of with a fury in her voice.

"_Ashe?"_

**"I leave for the North, and the moment the skies turn clear, you try and rob me of my throne, Lissandra?"**

Lissandra found the source, and focused on it intently. Avarosa's perch, of all places... How did she not notice her arrival?

**"I treat you with respect and trust, and you repay me by bringing chaos to the land? To our people?"**

The echoes and clangs of the battlefield slowly tapered off to a halt. The mountains resonated with Ashe's voice, indignant and proud, commanding everyone's attention.

**"I am not the one to resort to violence, but when greed threatens my people, when selfishness casts a shadow over the land, and when hatred threatens Freljord's unity, peace and future, I WILL NOT STAND IDLE. You want my crown, Lissandra? You want to usurp the dreams of Freljord's people, to ****sow the seeds of discord and contempt?** With the gods as my witness, I invite you to march up here and _try to take it. __FRELJORD, STAND WITH ME, UNITED AS ONE!_"**  
**

Lissandra was already roaring orders to Trundle as defiant cheers began to rise from the ramparts. The reaction of her army was disorganized and drastic: Whole sections broke off, gangs of trolls rushing up confidently to overwhelm the force at the top of the ridge. True, Lissandra could tell that Ashe's escort was not more than one hundred, but their appearance was intimidating, they held the high ground, and Ashe still wielded her sisters bow.

"Keep the siege contained. We cannot allow Racklestake's forces to break through. Bring the army _to order, damnit!"_

Trundle just shrugged and sped off towards the new front, while her Iceborn guard moved to reinforce the siege. Lissandra scowled at the sudden change in events, considering her options. She turned towards Avarosa's perch.

It would end now.

* * *

The reaction was unsurprising. Lissandra's army already began to stretch as combatants smelled royal blood, moving up the slops far quicker than the core of Lissandra's force. The line of the siege wavered as the urge to turn around and gaze up at Avarosa's perch became an irresistible itch. The trolls were unruly and undisciplined, bound to ignore the orders to fall back, or return to ranks to create formation. He grinned as he turned around, taking a look at the men who began to stretch and stare down at the coming battle with nervous eyes and clammy skin. He wanted to use his magic _so_ _badly_, but instead he tried something different.

"This is the moment, men. I don't want a single troll to pass this line, you hear? Instead, I want you to make an avalanche with the amount of trolls you're going to be pushing back down this god-damn hill... Pity that we're going to have to wait a bloody age for these old men to climb this mound!"

Somewhere someone had a nervous chuckle.

_Thwang_

Tryndamere looked down the slope just in time to see one of Lissandra's assailants fall backwards, barely a quarter up the hill. He grinned, glancing to Ashe as she was already pulling back another arrow, deep in concentration. She gave him an idea.

"If they're going to take their sweet time, why not enjoy it? Time for a wager: How many do you think our Queen will fell before they get up here?" He shouted, challenging his men to respond.

There was a strenuous pause as Tryndamere's gusto tapered away. _Gods, someone please respond..._

"Fifteen?" A brave soul answered.

"Bite your tongue!" Tryndamere shot back with a laugh as another enemy combatant stumbled to the ground.

"Twenty." Another chimed in.

"Gods, this is my wife you're talking about, lad!" Tryndamere snickered, spying another nervous grin, "I bet she'll fell more than 35."

One of the men shook his head, and Tryndamere raised his arm over his head in indignant rage as another arrow flew from Ashe's bow.

"What, don't believe me? We count them, then! If she doesn't take down more than _fourty_, I'll pay whatever tabs you have at Gragas's bar when its over. If not, I'll give her... and myself a reward!"

"Deal!" Someone agreed with a laugh, far down the line.

The moral was lighter, certainly, and soon one of the young men had the bright idea of banging his shield with the butt of his sword the next time a Troll fell to his knees. Soon the entire line of warriors was banging their shields in synchrony, hooting and cheering as their foe crept closer and closer towards the top of Avarosa's Perch. Ashe's motions seemed to speed up with the encouragement, and soon Tryndamere felt the air tremble as the beat's tempo quickened, with shouts of wonder and pride as Ashe continued to aim true. Faster and faster she her arrows flew, every arrow making its mark and taking out another combatant. Tryndamere was so mesmerized by how efficient, how quick, how skilled her marksmanship was that he scarcely realized how quick time had passed, how many she had taken out, and how close the enemy was, less than a hundred meters away. He called out to his men, tightening the line line, and as the last couple meters ordering them forward...

He leapt forward into the fray, Ashe's arrows at his side, and leading the way.

* * *

End Chapter


	16. Melee

.

Melee

* * *

Sejuani grit her teeth when she heard the bells of Raklestake toll in the distance. A bad sign for her. Even if Lissandra's army had taken the city, Sejuani would still have to fight her way to the throne. Then she spied the dark mass creeping its way up Avarosa's perch, and knew that the battle was no longer contained in the city. Lissandra was being pushed back... A better scenario.

"Ashe drew Lissandra's force away from the gates. She is in control of a force of about 130 men on the summit of Avarosa's perch."

Sejuani shrugged, all of the specks looked the same. She didn't believe Aatrox could see and understand the battlefield so clearly, either.

"Ashe is not suicidal."

"Yes. See how the people lower down the slope overestimate how many men hold Avarosa's perch with Ashe? There is uncertainty and disorder in Lissandra's forces down the slope, so the charge to the top has abated, stalled. The delay is all that Ashe needs in order to hold the line and wait for Raklestake's reinforcements to tear apart Lissandra's army."

Sejuani glanced to the dark creature.

"Quite the general, aren't you?"

Aatrox paid no mind to her cold tone, "All you need to know is that this is your time to strike. Lissandra and Ashe's forces are whittling each other down, while your force is unblemished. Charge now and you'll rout them both."

Sejuani grinned, raising her fist and shouting out to her horde.

"We go up the slope and put an end to both of those hags! **It ends** **here!**"

* * *

Tryndamere was unnerved of how quiet the battle was. The clash of arms and cries of war were so spread out, while the vibrations of the battle being waged below seemed to dwarf everything else.

He lashed out with his blade, crushing through one of the his opponent's shield, a clumsy blow that caught his blade for too long. Two other opponents leapt forward to strike a counter, but before they even entered Tryndamere's range an arrow appeared in both of them, sending the trolls backwards into the earth.

Right. Ashe.

It seemed that after every moment another victim fell prey to her frosted arrows. It did not matter if the foe carried a shield or not, Ashe's aim was nothing but fatal. Every time the enemy pushed forward, Tryndamere pushed back just as hard, slashing and stabbing anyone in range, while the Frost Archer weaved through the battle with him, taking care of anyone who attempted to stop his rampage. Her eyes were sharper than anything he imagined, her skill with the bow in the heat of the battle even more impressive.

It was all ludicrous, actually. Tryndamere had only cuts, no open wounds. With the fury bubbling within him and Ashe covering his mistakes, he appeared unblemished and untouchable. Invincible, even.

Blinded by confidence, Tryndamere pushed forward descending the slope as the battle raged around them. The line of scrimmage bent to with their advance as they were almost completely surrounded by Lissandra's host.

The battle changed from a series of methodical exchanges to a whirlwind of activity. Everywhere Tryndamere turned, a mongrel was lashing out with a sword or spear to draw his blood. He spun from left to right, fending off the jagged edges while Ashe continued to plant her lethal projectiles wherever Tryndamere's blade was absent. It was became nauseating and thrilling to watch the bodies pile up as he spun around in an endless circle, blocking and striking as quickly as he could.

A blue flash suddenly shined just out of Tryndamere's peripheral, and as he twisted to assess the threat he found himself staring down a jagged spear of ice barreling down towards him. Without thinking, he shifted straight into the line of the projectile and braced himself against the flat end of his sword.

The spear shattered on contact, splintering around in a number of directions. His sword vibrated and bruised him terribly, but he was able to maintain his grip and stand his ground. A voice pierced the battlefield with frozen authority.

"_Stand down, stand **down**. Go kill their entourage._"

Tryndamere took the moment to glance behind him. Ashe stood there, crouched and alert, arrow on string. Her armor was barely touched, giving Tryndamere some pride in how well they had fought. She briefly locked eyes with him, nodding quietly.

He stood up, bringing his sword level towards the new challenge, as Ashe stepped out from under his back. The two stood together, staring down the traitor, as the forces around them began to move forwards up the mountain.

"Cute, Ashe. Speaking such high and mighty words behind the bulk of such a mongrel."

"Ha! Coming from the self-absorbed witch who sent a troll to do her dirty work." Ashe shot back, barbed and teeth showing.

"Self-absorbed witch?" Lissandra spat, beginning to circle the two with venomous eyes, "I am trying to save the Freljord!"

"You're trying to save your own damn ideas, from what I see. What good is burning Raklestake?"

Tryndamere moved to face Lissandra as she continued to circle the Avarosan. The Ice Dervish flung out her hand in fury.

"You never _listened_, Ashe! Damn you and your frilly thoughts of unity! Noxus, Demacia, they want nothing but to _own _Freljord! You cannot survive with some weak little collation!"

"Have you no pride?" Ashe shouted back angrily, "My people live free, free from your accursed Watchers. I will not let you impose slavery on them!"

"Its like I'm arguing to a ghost." Lissandra hissed, exhausted, "and I've had _enough of that noise!_"

Another shard of ice spun towards Tryndamere, before he could add his own two cents. He danced around it and charged down towards the ice mage. Lissandra responded with a roar and a flash of blue, as frost blasted Tryndamere to the ground and stuck him there. He ripped upwards, struggling to stand up despite the frost freezing him to the ground, as an arrow struck Lissandra in the throat.

The Ice Witch screamed in fury, spinning around to face Ashe, who drew her bow back once more. Tryndamere could see the transparent arrow materialize on the bow, just as Lissandra's dark wall of true ice materialized to block it. Ashe rolled out of the way to dodge the jagged ice particales, but Lissandra just laughed as a cold air of frost attempted to lock the archer down.

"You thought you could match my power, girl? I have been Iceborn for _ages_. For you to think you could match me in my element?"

Tryndamere broke free of the ice just in time, slicing towards the apparition of another ice shard, ruining its materialization. Lissandra reacted, moving backwards- but too slow. The claymore spun forward hungrily, embedding itself in her flank deep in the middle.

The scream itself made the whole battlefield shutter, but Tryndamere just grit his teeth and tried to follow through with the swing. He could not... The blade wouldn't budge...

Then suddenly it sprung free, as a surge of ice sprung from Lissandra, the equivalent of blood. He saw the fury in her eyes as he brought his claymore back, but he didn't care.

"Tryndamere!"

There was a fear in Ashe's voice, but he didn't listen, taking another step forward to strike again.

"_Freeze._"

The ice froze him in place, and the tomb enveloped him. His roar froze in his throat, and his eyes only saw darkness.

* * *

End Chapter


	17. Relentless

.

Relentless

* * *

To be encased in ice is as painful and harrowing as one could imagine. Every attempt to move was restricted, and the dark true ice that Lissandra had conjured was so cold that it burnt at Tryndamere's skin like an iron poker. He could hear the vibrations of the battle around him, but everything else was dark and painful. The prison squeezed the air out of him, trying to squeeze the last degrees of heat from his body. The lethal combination of suffocation and hypothermia was otherworldly, something no man would be able to withstand for a few agonizing spasms.

But Tryndamere was anything but ordinary. His fingers were still wrapped his weapon, and the black fire deep within him fought back against the frozen crucible. His skin sizzled, a war of degrees that kept him on the edge of life. He struggled against the encasement, flexing and shaking his arm as strong as he could against the prison walls.

It was exhausting. He couldn't breath. His vision swam from black to red. His consciousness was so... murky. All he did was struggle. But he got nowhere. The chilled walls remained unbroken, unaffected by his efforts.

In the delirium, he felt a heavy pressure in his gut. Ashe. She was facing down Lissandra and an army of trolls while he wasted away in confinement. She needed him now more than ever...

_No._

The words echoed deep within his head. Out of nowhere, the inferno spoke.

_She needs no protection_.

His heart was pounding. He didn't realize it until that moment. It beat against the confines of his chest to the point where it hurt.

_There is nothing you can do for her._

He could hear a faint noise. Hissing, fracturing.

_Stop hiding under the guise of honor and chivalry. __You don't want do it_ **_for her_**.

No. He knew this feeling. The fire was consuming him once more. He wouldn't break his oath. He had promised her. This noise grew louder, and his arm shook, the walls of his confine suddenly plastic and deforming to his strength. He tried to set his mind straight, desperately wishing to let go of that accursed weapon, but his hand clenched the pommel tightly.

_Go to her. __Defend her. Fight by her side._

His head hurt. Was he losing his mind? The inferno loathed her... feared her...

_But not out of honor. Not out of responsibility. Do it **for** **yourself**._

His vision ran red with pain and fury as the flames continued to grow. His arm shifted, and audible crack filled the his ears as a part of Lissandra's tomb broke away. True ice be damned, his flames were winning now, and he threw his weight against the icy chains, his strength rising by the second.

_You are **King**. Your fights, your burdens, your choices are your **own**. _

He broke free with a roar. The walls shuddered and splintered as he forced his way free, fueled by the heat and madness. The air was a blast of cool to his skin, and he shook the shards and remains of the Frozen Tomb off.

The battlefield was an utter mess. The slope was completely filled with battle now, hundreds of warriors locked in hand to hand combat. Tryndamere could see Sejuani's troops attack trolls and Avarosan's alike. Seemed that Sejuani was going all in as well.

It was a relief to see the battle unfold before him. It gave him affirmation that Ashe was somewhere amidst the sea, alive and fighting. Much different from the frail chick who nearly died to a simpleton with an axe... scarcely a year ago.

He leapt straight into the turmoil, hacking and slashing through the sea of combatants. Shields buckled, spears and swords shattered, everything seemed to fragile and useless in comparison to Tryndamere's monstrous blade, which glimmered happily in the blood of its enemies, moving as fluidly as cleanly as a whip.

Arrows did pierce him, and swords did cut, but the wounds healed as quickly as they came. He laughed as he ripped arrowheads from his shoulders, frightening off opponents. The ones who stayed and faced him met the same fate: An attempt to parry or defend always failed, a strike would rarely reach its destination. Over and over and over...

_Clang._

Tryndamere was almost taken aback by when the next opponent stopped his blow entirely. The axe-wielder knocked away his claymore mid-swing, and his free hand lashed out with a sharp weapon. Tryndamere turned to avoid the retaliatory blow, hopping backwards and leveling his blade once more.

The gruff barbarian laughed and jumped straight at him, axes present. Tryndamere swung out once more, but once again an axe was in his way, stopping the blow cleanly. Gritting his teeth, Tryndamere hopped backwards to avoid the swing, but instead his opponent opted to throw the axe straight at him. Tryndamere was able to bring the flat edge of his blade in front of the trajectory just before the axe connected. Yet as he landed, the man was already charging forward once more, pressuring him backwards yet again.

With a snarl Tryndamere replied with a reckless and wild swing, forcing the man duck underneath his blade. Before he could stand up, Tryndamere already brought his sword over his head, roaring as he fractured the earth in a mighty blow.

Dust, snow, dirt and rock flew everywhere, but the two combatants were unaffected. The man straightened, recovering his thrown axe, and hoisted his weapons once more.

"Strong blow for a queen's pet!"

"I'd like to see you match it." Tryndamere shouted back, confident and threatening. "Your name?"

"Olaf, sir." The man responded with a hearty tone. "Lets make this a good fight!"

"Lets make it _quick._" Tryndamere spat, uninterested with the challenge, preoccupied with finding Ashe in the fray.

Olaf laughed and charged at him again. With the large arc of Tryndamere's swing, the close combat threat of Olaf's axes could not be ignored. With controlled, moderated swings, Tryndamere fended off the foe to the best of his ability. However, agility and persistence of his opponent was frustratingly acute, as Olaf weaved through the blows and lashed out with his axes, forcing a block.

The blow sent vibrations through the sword and his frame, and he could hear a furious scream resonate from his weapon. His patience spent, he lashed out and took the offensive. Blow after blow collided with the earth as Olaf avoided and countered, tearing at Tryndamere's frame. The barbarian didn't notice, even with an axe cleanly lodged in his chest. Avoiding another swing, Olaf deftly ripped the axe out, right as Tryndamere stepped forward and lashed out with his left fist, straight into the warrior's chin.

The blow sent the man flying backwards, and Tryndamere spent no time bringing his sword down onto Olaf's exposed throat...

A moment later he stumbled to his feet, recovering from the blow that knocked him into a panicked troll warrior. He stared at the person who had interfered with his victory.

_They're coming out from under the woodwork... _Tryndamere echoed in his mind, fiery and displeased, staring up at the behemoth.

"Unnatural scum... Your strength is a fallacy!" The ursine roared, eyes flashing with electrical plasma. Olaf was already getting to his feet, recovering from the uppercut.

"To think the first ursine I will cross blades with is a coward." Tryndamere hissed back, infuriated with the interference, "Have you no dignity?"

"Says the creature who regards limbs as disposable? Pah!" The giant rumbled in response, "I, Volibear, will put an end to your _twisted_ existence."

Tryndamere rolled his eyes at the threat. At this point it was purely reflex.

Volibear growled and charged forward while Olaf followed with axes brandished. Tryndamere swung hard, angling his blow to dissuade Volibear from advancing further, but the giant ursine managed to deflect most of the blow to the ground. Keep in his offensive, Tryndamere shielded himself with his bladed and threw himself at Olaf, checking him squarely in the chest. The fighter planted his feet and held his ground, both hands pushing back. Volibear recovered and lunged forward with his massive jaw...

Tryndamere disengaged and spun his sword around, clobbering the bear's face with the blunt end. Hands free, Olaf leapt forward and drove Tryndamere back, step by step, until Volibear was charging forward yet again. Tryndamere grimaced, his advantage and initiative cleanly lost...

At this point he wasn't even surprised when yet another entity interfered with their skirmish. The monk appeared directly in the path of Volibear's path, and with a spin and a flurry of blows sent the massive ursine stumbling. As Olaf skipped backwards, Udyr called out to Tryndamere as he assumed a position in between the opponents and the Barbarian King.

"You are needed elsewhere, Lord. Please make haste, while I deal with these two."

"Ashe?" Tryndamere responded, a sudden surge of concern and anticipation lacing his tone.

"Fighting, but waiting on you. Across the slopes to your right."

Tryndamere nodded, resolve as strong as ever. _  
_

"I will be there. Many thanks, Monk."

He turned around an disappeared into the mass, his search resumed.

* * *

End Chapter


	18. Vicious

.

Vicious

* * *

The maze of swords and shields rolled to and fro as Tryndamere hacked and slashed his way through the battle. Behind him he could hear the furious roar of the Ursine, aggravated by Udyr's persistence. He had no bearing of how long the monk would last against Sejuani's lackeys, but he hoped that he would be able to repay the favor someday.

Cutting through the chaos, Tryndamere stumbled across an unnatural shard of ice jutting from a corpse. The sparse, dull bronze armor the unlucky victim was wearing was assurance that it wasn't Ashe. The discovery helped: he was on the right track.

As he weaved through the chaos, he began to spy sky-blue arrows with Ashe's fletchings sticking out from corpses, and icy ground and monoliths of ice rising from the earth. Even with all of the strain, he could feel the engine deep within him roar as it beat faster and faster, fueled by frustration and spite.

The landscape had changed, bent by cyro magic. He could feel it, see it. The wind seemed to ripple across the ranks, perpetually blanketing combatants in a thin layer of frost and snow, and the sharp glittering noise of ice seemed to underlay every noise, from the steps and bounds fighters took to the blows that rang off their shields and swords.

Tryndamere nearly roared in frustration as a pair of warriors battled their way into his path. He almost cleaved through both of the combatants, but slowed his blade when he spied the Avarosan markings on the shield-bearer. The man fell to the ground, shield knocking into his face, its proud Avarosan coat of arms splashed in troll blood.

The man recovered as best he could, admirable to any onlooker, but too slow for Tryndamere. The king grabbed him by the chestplate and heaved him to his feet in impatience.

"Get up quicker." Tryndamere spat, glancing around him, then squinting at a troll, daring him to take another step forward. The beast shrunk away, intimidated.

"M..My- king!"

"Have you seen Ashe?"

"N-"

"Push forward with me then, soldier." Tryndamere remarked as he charged back into the steel ocean, obsessed on pressing on. The small act gave the barbarian an idea.

As they moved through the crowd, Tryndamere spied Avarosans and began taking care of their opponents for them. Little by little his party grew, until a group of six men had formed around the king.

"How the fuck did the battle get so _scrambled_." Tryndamere hissed as another cold flash raced through the ranks.

"S-Sejuani" One of the men shivered as the cold shot through his armor, "We were pushing into Lissandra's ranks when the boar-rider charged both of our forces. She ran right into the thick of the line and everyone lost their bearings."

"Then whoever wins is whoever consolidates quickest." Tryndamere muttered, feeling his claymore drag on the ground as he rushed towards the next blot of fighters, "Come on, _faster!"_

His men followed as best they could, but often Tryndamere had to turn around to help them advance. Often times he arrived too late, with one man shuddering on the floor with a sword sticking out from a gap in the armor, or an twitching with an ax stuck in the head. Yet every meter more of Racklestake's defenders joined Tryndamere's party, and the group grew in force and moment. Soon the journey through the thick of the battle straightened out, bulldozing over sparring groups of warriors with sheer numbers instead of winding through them. It was soon after that they arrived at the eye of the storm.

Tryndamere was the first to step into the clearing, soaking in the scene. The landscape was icy and sharp, riddled with dead fighters who were caught by stray fragments of ice or frozen in the gusts of wind. He saw the dark figure of Lissandra jutting out from the landscape, with frozen mirrors and shields suspended in the air, spiked with Ashe's arrows. He could see a figure just narrowly avoid on of her projectiles. Ashe.

He turned around for an instant, pointing a finger at the most composed man he could spy.

"You. You're in command. Go down the ridge and meet up with the rest of the force."

Although taken aback, the armor-clad Avarosan stammered orders as loudly as he could. The group turned around soon began pushing its way through the rabble once more, slower but just as steady.

Tryndamere ran up the slope, up towards the Ice Witch, quiet as he could possibly be. Yet before he took four steps the haughty figure snapped his head straight at him, and immediately a dark blue projectile hurtled towards him in response. Tryndamere threw himself to the left, barely evading the missile, though he could feel the burning shards that ripped into his body as the icicle broke and fragmented. He shook the irritation off and stood up, sword ready for a possible salvo.

Yet Lissandra had turned away, to Tryndamere's curiosity. He tilted, forward, about to resumed his sprint...

... when his claymore seemed to stop his movement, right before the frozen pillar of ice erupted from the ground. Tryndamere felt the rough surface brush his skin as he turned around to face his opponent.

Arrow shafts shook out from Trundle's club when it grated against Tryndamere's blade. The sheer force of the swing brought both of the weapons to the ground, and in the moment Tryndamere stepped forward to land a hook on the troll's unprotected face with his free hand. The troll just turned away and repelled him with a shove from his shoulder.

" 'Allo, King!" The tactician shouted jovially, though his eyes burned furiously as he swung his club to and fro, trying to pin his opponent down.

Tryndamere just bared his teeth and focused on trying to regain the initiative. Ashe was standing her ground, as amazing as it seemed. All he needed to do was win this duel and rejoin her.

Back and forth they pushed one another, with Tryndamere dodging Trundle's attempts to bite while the troll knocked aside Tryndamere's downward swings. Yet try as he might, Trundle weakened, worn down against the engine that flared deep within Tryndamere. With every contact, the strange blade seemed to quiver with life, sapping it from Trundle.

It came to the point where Tryndamere was tirelessly pounding away at Trundle's guard, wearing him down for the final blow. Tryndamere laughed in triumph as he knocked the frozen club to the side and lashed out with his sword. Tryndamere could have sworn the troll was doomed.

Yet in that moment vitality surged through Trundle, and his club swung back to repel the blade. Tryndamere could feel icy torrents rip from his skin and feed into the suddenly enormous troll, in a moment the battle shifted back towards the center, as Trundle continued to siphon off energy from the king.

Tryndamere snarled through the trade once more, displeased and angry at the sudden turn of events. He wanted the duel to be _over _with.

A loud roar suddenly broke the flurry of frozen wind, and as Tryndamere locked weapons with Trundle once more, he took a glance downhill. It was Sejuani. She had finally found Ashe throughout the melee.

He could see her twirl her mace in the most threatening fashion, building momentum as a silver blue aura collected on it. He could hear the roar behind him then, a furious sound of an Ursine.

_God damn it._

"Well thats a problem, ain't it?" Trundle yelled.

"Your _"queen"_ is fucked too, idiot." Tryndamere shouted back, frustrated by that incessant positivity.

"Do I care?" Trundle laughed back.

More dark thoughts and words flared up deep within Tryndamere, all laced with a tinge of panic. He could see Bristle lunge forward, and then rearing upwards...

He shoved Trundle back, just for a clear moment, and brought his sword over his head. At the same moment the mace flew out from Sejuani's hands, flying straight towards the center of Ashe and Lissandra's duel.

Tryndamere threw his blade as strong as he could, as Sejuani's mace flew past the halfway point. In the air, the blade spun and twisted unnaturally, as if reacting to the air currents, correcting its trajectory...

The two objects collided midair, and the resulting explosion sent Tryndamere's weapon tumbling to the earth. For a moment, the war stopped. Lissandra twisted around, sensing what had occurred. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ashe notice the new presences. Sejuani roared in anger, turning around to see Tryndamere as Trundle slammed him with his club.

Tryndamere bit the cold, frozen earth, ripping upwards to face a grinning troll yet again. Although happy that he had protected Ashe, it was only temporary. He lunged forward, ignoring the cracking and screaming bones. Trundle backed up as best he could, but his next blow failed to repel the warrior well enough. Tryndamere managed to get on arm on the troll's fur, and launched himself towards the throat.

Trundle reacted quickly, dropping his club and blocking Tryndamere's grapple with a strong right hand.

"Troll are best at wrestling, mate." He spat as he began to overpower Tryndamere's clutch, throwing him down to the ground and pinning him hard.

Tryndamere didn't yelling during the popping of his joints as they slowly dislocated, one by one. He could feel the red gathering in his veins, into his throat. He fought for every moment, until he could hear the crack of broken bone, until he could see Volibear break into the circle, fur red with blood and eyes still alight with thunder.

Then he roared, and the fire leapt outward, red light flooding out from his body.

He shook, he rocked, he strained, and Trundle went flying. He felt the joints all rush back to their natural positions as he leapt upwards, right into another swing of Trundle's club.

He hit the ground again, and rose again. It was getting too _damn repetitive. _The Ursine drew closer.

"Gods." Trundle swore, furious and losing his joy. "Why don't you _die_?"

This time the troll launched himself at the barbarian, swinging his club in a long, horizontal arch. Tryndamere leapt backward, preparing to lunge forward after Trundle committed to his swing.

But the ice leapt up, a wall of frozen shards and panels, repelling Trundle's club like a toothpick. Volibear also came to a halt, ice caking his fur. Tryndamere looked up to see the massive Cyropheonix settle on the peak of the wall.

"Recover your blade, Jarəsit." Was all she said.

Tryndamere felt a small laugh escape his lips as he turned around.

"Many thanks, Anivia." He could hear himself say. He did not know if the phoenix heard.

* * *

End Chapter


End file.
